Finding What Was Lost
by ecv
Summary: Brennan leaves before finding out the truth about Booth's "death" in Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ _I found this, half finished in a file of my stories. I decided to finish it. It's ]not the best I've written, but there are parts of it I like, so I thought I'd share._

 _This is my warning: It's definitely AU and possible OOC. It's full of angst, but does end happily, because that's the way it should be. But if angst isn't your thing, stop here._

 _For the purposes of my story, Sweets doesn't exist. This takes place immediately after Booth fakes his death and the months following._

 _I hope you enjoy, or at least keep reading. And if you don't, thanks for checking it out. There are lots of other great stories out there, so don't feel bad. Remember, I love happy endings. Sometimes it just takes a little bit to get there._

 _And I always get really nervous when I put new stories out there, so please, be kind._

He walked in darkness broken only by the light left on outside the room. Cool feet on the carpeted floor took him toward the window that overlooked the street below. His feet ached, as they always did, but it was nothing more than a footnote in the back of his mind. Pain was a part of him now. If it didn't come from his feet, it would come from someplace else.

His chest.

His head.

His heart.

He didn't know how much the body could hurt from wounds that were only emotional. There were no cuts to the skin, no recent injuries which to blame. Yet, he felt as if he bled from a thousand wounds that never healed, never scabbed over. They kept leaking, refusing to become a history he could leave behind.

Naked from the waist up, chills shivered across his skin, but he made no move to find a robe or a t-shirt to cover him. It wouldn't make any difference. The cold wasn't from outside, but within. He'd actually slept in pants that night, hoping it would make some sort of difference.

It hadn't and it wouldn't. Nothing would change what he felt.

It was impossible to escape, and even under the most glaring of sunlight, he was cold. At night, when there was nothing but moonlight to slide over his skin, there was no heat found at all.

He'd tried coffee, warmer clothes and blankets, but nothing made a difference. One afternoon, he spent an played basketball at the park. As his fellow players had walked away, despite the sweat sliding down his skin, he shook. He'd come to accept that it was a part of him now, much like the scars that dotted his skin were.

Imagination made it seem as if he could see his breath as it left his lungs. The cold invaded every part of him; even the very air he breathed. Illusions so real there were times he was no longer clear where reality ended and fantasy began.

The cold had begun to invade other parts of his psyche. His words to others were crisp, brittle, a reflection of the ice that was freezing him solid. Soon, it would be impossible to move, impossible to take a simple step, because he froze in place. Never able to move forward, but not able to go back and fix everything that he'd done.

It wasn't all his fault, he knew that. But guilt was a funny thing. And in his case, it wouldn't let him see past the things he should have done. He couldn't focus on what he had done, on the mistakes that weren't his. It wasn't going to change anything, so why bother?

No, it wasn't his fault. But it sure felt to him like it was.

Finally, the window was in reach, but he hesitated in front of it. In a darkened room, long after the witching hour, he could pretend. As soon as he reached out to open it, the flimsy shade would lose whatever protective power he gave it.

Outside that window was reality. In his darkened bedroom, it was easier to pretend.

Looking at the shade, he noted that it needed dusting, the slats covered with a film he could see even in the dim light. His housekeeping skills had become a little lax recently. A finger, run along the top of his dresser, left a visible trail, even in a room with little light.

Not that he did much in the apartment anymore, other than eat. Or sleep. Or clean himself up so he could leave again. The time alone, once an event he found comfort in, was nothing but torture now. And he tired of trying to find a way to escape it.

The sound of the shade, as it made its way toward the top of the window, was loud. He knew he needed to stop hiding. From himself. From the truth. From the need to finally take a step forward. But each step forward was one step further away from her.

Was he finally ready to admit that there was no fixing this? That to fix himself, he was going to have to do something he promised he'd never do?

Was he going to give up on her?

The streetlights were lit below, illuminating little patches of sidewalk. But it was the darkness between the light that drew his attention.

There were secrets there, shadows and nightmares hiding from the light. When that light came again and the shadows withdrew, did those secrets go where his did? Did they hide from the light, waiting for the darkness and nightmares before coming out to play again?

Because, his nightmares liked to play. They danced behind closed eyelids all hours of the night. So much so that he was often unable to close his eyes for more than minutes at a time. On nights like tonight, he managed a couple hours of sleep before they came out to play again.

Of course, some of them came when his eyes were open, too.

The street beyond the sidewalk was quiet. Solitary cars broke the darkness every minute or two. He watched them pass, wondering where the drivers were going. Hoping, as he did so often, that one of them would stop in front of his building and expel the person he was looking for.

He stared for several minutes, his hands resting on the sill as his shoulders slumped forward. The glass was cool against his forehead. He was a little surprised at the feeling. The cold he felt was not reflected in the temperature of his skin.

It had rained sometime during the night. The few droplets left on the glass ran down like tears. The water in those tracks made everything look warped, unreal, kind of like the last few months of his life.

Turning away from the window, he looked back toward the bed. The wrinkled covers were disheveled, as if the sleeper had lost a wrestling match with them. The side he hadn't slept on was empty, not that he expected anything else. It had been that way for a long time now, and he had no interest in filling it. The one he dreamed of being there had left long ago. He hadn't felt any interest in romance since then.

Not that he hadn't had opportunities. But each time someone tried, he found himself comparing the woman to the one who'd walked away from him. Or to be more accurate, the woman he'd forced away.

See, there was that guilt thing again. This whole mess was his fault.

His sleep had been restless, until the moment he snapped awake. It happened that way a lot; there was no time between sleep and wakefulness for him anymore. It was either one or the other. And most of the time, it wasn't sleep.

If he was honest with himself, he preferred sleep these days, no matter how difficult it was to achieve. Sleep was the only escape he had from the memories that haunted him.

At least until the nightmares came. Peace was something he could rarely find these days.

Returning to the bed, he sat down on the edge. Sighing, he reached in the drawer of the stand for the cigarettes, only to put them away again. She would remind him how unhealthy they were, how he'd picked up another habit to replace gambling.

She was right, of course. And he'd never actually smoked one. But, it was the only way he heard her voice now, in his head. So he did things he knew she wouldn't approve of, to hear her talk.

Instead, he reclined against the pillows with hands folded behind him. Staring at the ceiling, he waited for the images to appear. They always showed up when he woke in the middle of the night. Those pictures provided no comfort. His colleagues at work would avoid him in the morning, knowing demons were riding him that day.

The first was Bones laughing in that awkward way she had. He wondered if he had to explain the joke she was laughing at, or if she'd understood it the first time. She'd gotten better at that sort of thing, before she disappeared. Her laughter melted into a look of grim determination. It was the last thing he saw before losing consciousness the day Pam shot him.

Angela didn't always show up, but she was here with him tonight. Sometimes, he could still feel her hand making contact with his cheek. He'd deserved it, but at the time, he hadn't understood why. He did now.

Closing his eyes didn't stop the images, so Booth didn't try. He kept them open, staring at things only he could see. Memories of his time in the military had chased him for years, but these were different. Despite the truth, he would always believe he had no one to blame for this but himself.

There would be no more sleep for him this night. Booth rose from his reclined position and sat at the edge of the bed again. Leaning forward, he rested elbows on knees and his head in his hands. "Shit Bones," he muttered, rubbing at eyes that were dry, which surprised him. Often the haunting images brought him to tears.

Not that he believed she was dead. He knew she lived. Somewhere. In a place so well hidden, using a name he didn't recognize, he hadn't been able to locate her. But she was alive.

Too bad she didn't believe the same about him. That was the thing about truth. You only knew what you knew. Or what you believed. And until someone could show you the mistake, your truth wouldn't change.

Booth hadn't had a chance to show her the mistake.

He was starting to wonder if he ever would.

Pushing himself to his feet, he headed for the bathroom. There were cases he could work on at the office. A place to hide, at least for a little while.

Before closing the door behind him, he prayed the same prayer he'd been saying for the last six months.

Please let today be the day I find her.


	2. Chapter 2

National security.

National security.

Don't look at your friends. Hope they will forgive you. Know that this is the best decision.

Don't think about it.

Don't second guess it.

Don't regret.

The sun shone down on a small group of mourners gathered around the simple coffin. The minister extolled the virtues of the recently deceased. Behind him, the men in uniform waited for the signal. Several were thankful the wait was under a shade tree. At least the canopy provided some protection from the noon day sun.

And when it came they fired. One, two, three times, giving the deceased man the respect he deserved.

At least one man in line fought the urge to move. He wasn't one to stand still. Most of the time he had something in his hand to fidget with or toss in the air. The movement had become such an integral part of him since his days as a sniper. Sometimes he found it hard to believe he'd once been a man who could sit still for hours, waiting for the perfect moment.

But out of the corner of his eye he could see the person he was waiting for. A more steps and the target would be at the casket and that's when Seeley Booth would make his arrest.

The time gave him an opportunity to think, not that he needed it. It had taken two weeks to set up this funeral. During that time Booth hid in a safe house with nothing but time to watch tv and think.

And most of his thoughts, and his fantasies, centered on a woman he claimed was nothing more than a partner. Something she also claimed. Would it ever be possible to change her mind?

Temperance Brennan. Bones. The woman made him crazy with desire and just plain crazy. Even two weeks apart hadn't dulled his reaction to her. At times, it seemed to make it worse.

Standing still made it hard for him to look for her, but Booth was sure she was there somewhere. Perhaps standing behind him under the cool shade of the trees. What would she say when she saw he was alive?

Did Booth dare hope for a hug? Bones wasn't the demonstrative type, but this wasn't a typical situation. She'd pretended he was dead for two weeks. Her acting the part and 'discovering' he was alive deserved at least a hug, didn't it?

Her colleagues from the Jeffersonian were there. Hodgins and Angela, he definitely had not seen that pairing coming. Bones' odd little intern Zack, and, of course, Cam. He'd known Cam long before she appeared in Washington, DC. Friends, friends with benefits at one point, she would have surprised him if she hadn't shown up.

The FBI informed none of the people present of the lie, per their protocol. A matter of national security, something Hodgins definitely wouldn't understand. Booth was a little uncomfortable with Bones having to play the part. He had trusted that she would understand his reasons for the lie.

And trusted her acting skills would be enough to get him to this point.

As his target lay a white rose on the empty coffin, Booth jumped from his place in line. As promised, his suspect reappeared at the funeral. The arrest should be easy.

But, of course, nothing was ever went the way it should. For an older man, he put up a strong resistance, and forced Booth to fight to make the arrest.

The two men twisted and tumbled, bumping into the casket. It fell to the ground, a mannequin rolling to the feet of the mourners. To anyone who hadn't figured it out, it was now very clear that not everything was what it seemed.

His friends from the Jeffersonian, people who'd spent the last two weeks thinking he was dead, watched in mute horror as he rolled around on the ground attempting to subdue Reynolds. Booth might have wondered why none of them were helping if he hadn't been so busy.

Angela reached over to grab Hodgins' hand, her anguish at what had happened, what she knew was going to happen, bringing fresh tears to her eyes. "Oh my God," she managed to whisper. The two men rolling on the ground commanded her entire attention as her brain frantically tried to make sense of what was going on.

Cam was thankful for the tree behind her. Her knees were weak and the tree provided the support she needed to remain standing. "Who's going to tell him?" she asked, not expecting anyone standing next to her to answer. She looked around, but for exactly what, she couldn't say. There was no one holding a giant cue card with the words she would need.

Finally managing a swing that knocked Reynolds unconscious, Booth climbed to his feet. He gave those still standing around an annoyed look. "Couldn't even one of you try and help me?" he asked. He shook his fist, trying to shake out the pain from his bruising knuckles.

"How?" Angela managed to ask. She forced the word from a throat sore from crying and it came out as a croak. "Why?"

Noticing the looks directed at him, Booth managed to fight off the urge to hunch his shoulders. Not one person appeared to be happy to see him. And where was Bones?

"Reynolds here said he'd only come out of hiding for my funeral. The gunshot was a convenient opportunity to catch him." The words were almost jovial at the beginning, but became more hesitant as Booth studied the faces starting at him.

Booth watched the people he'd begun to consider as friends. He hadn't wanted to like them, but hanging around Bones had allowed them to worm their way in. For a man who'd spent his entire life keeping himself distant, he found their attention a little bit disconcerting.

Other than Cam, of course. But even she looked a little overwhelmed by what was happening. Booth was pretty sure if that tree wasn't behind her, she would be on the ground by now.

It was clear something was very wrong. And it was more than finding out he'd faked his death. Instead of overjoyed, these people looked scared. But not of him. In fact, most of them kept glancing at Angela.

He'd been on the end of a blistering lecture from Angela once or twice and figured another one was coming. He'd listen to it if he could figure out where Bones was. Had she gone to the bathroom?

Dropping Hodgins' hand, Angela stepped toward the agent she'd once considered a friend. Booth brought his eyes back to her and fought the sudden urge to take a step back. Every bone in his body was screaming that this woman was an enemy. There was a look in her eyes that made him fear for his life. He was thankful the Jeffersonian did not supply their employees with weapons.

"What's -" he tried to ask. But Angela silenced the question with a crack. The empty cemetery echoed with the sound. It sounded like the twenty-one gun salute had only moments before.

"Angie!" Hodgins cried. He was panicked, and a little awed. The woman he'd fallen so hard for feared no one, not even the imposing FBI man standing in front of her. She would do anything to protect Brennan. Hodgins wondered if he should step between them. But trusted Booth wouldn't actually strike her, so he made no move to.

His jaw clenching, Booth reached up to rub his cheek. A handprint was appearing there. "What was that for? Listen, I'm sorry I had to fake my death, but I thought-"

"How dare you," Angela hissed. "How dare you do this to us. How dare you do this to Brennan. Did you think about her at all?"

Looking around, Booth again tried to find his partner. The last two weeks without her had been hell. And he was sure if anyone would understand what he'd done and why he'd done it, be able to explain it to the others in a way they would accept, it would be her. "Where is Bones?"

Was it possible she hadn't come to his funeral? Would she refuse, knowing the entire time that it was fake?

This time, Booth saw Angela's hand coming. He grabbed her wrist before it made contact with his face for the second time.

"Enough, Angela," he ordered. He gave her arm a push before letting go, forcing Angela to take a step back. His voice had taken on a different tone, one that made it clear he would put up with no more nonsense.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold on to his patience, he looked at the people still remaining. None of their reactions made sense to him. While he understood some of Angela's anger, he thought someone would be happy he was alive. Booth was also sure they'd understand once he explained it to them. Their reactions seemed a little over the top.

And he expected to see Bones. But no matter where he looked, Booth couldn't find her. She hadn't come to his funeral? Where was she? Is that what they were so afraid of? Had something happened to her while he'd been away?

Running a hand through his hair, Booth noticed it was shaking. Angela had slapped him for God's sake. Had tried to slap him for a second time. It had been a long time since a woman slapped him.

And Bones was missing.

"Cam?" He turned toward the woman he'd known longer than anyone else standing there. "Where's Bones?"

"Damn you!" Angela shouted before Cam could answer. "We thought you were dead. Brennan thinks you're dead." Sharp movements brushed tears from her cheeks. "I can't do this."

Angela turned toward Hodgins. "I'm going back to the Lab. You can drive me or I'll walk."

"The Lab is five miles away," Hodgins pointed out. Angela glared at him and he ducked his head. "I'll drive you."

As he walked by Booth, Hodgins gave him a sad look. "I don't think you'll fix this one, man."

More concerned than ever, Booth watched the pair walk toward Hodgins' toy car. Zack brushed past him, chasing Hodgins.

By that time, there was no one left but Booth and Cam. His eyes pleading, Cam realized it once again was going to fall to her to deliver the bad news. She opened her mouth to begin when Booth held up his hand.

"Tell me where she is, Cam."

Pressing her lips together Cam shook her head. "That's the thing, Seeley." She rarely used his real name, and Booth stiffened himself preparing for the blow. "We don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Remember, for the purposes of this story, Sweets does not exist. This story is AU._

 _Thanks for the follows, likes, and reviews. As usual, I don't own_ _Bones_ _._

Booth and Cam sat at the table above the platform, watching various employees mill around. At one point, Angela had appeared below them, her heels making loud clicking sounds as she crossed the expanse. But as soon as she'd looked up, she turned away and headed back toward her office.

She hadn't come back since.

A cup of coffee grew cool in front of him. Booth's wrapped his hands around it so no one saw how they were shaking. "You don't know where she is?" he asked without looking up at Cam.

He was still in that safe house, and this was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no way Bones was gone. She couldn't be.

He'd stepped in front of a bullet for her. It hadn't been her fault. He'd do it again without hesitation. But he hadn't been around to tell her that. No one had been able to tell her that because he'd followed protocol and kept the secret.

National security, he'd done it all for national security.

If he ever heard those words again, he'd shoot the person saying them.

There were procedures. The FBI had to inform her of the truth. He'd insisted on it before agreeing. He'd put her on the damn list, talked to the right people. Who hadn't informed her?

Booth had broken the rules many times before. Why hadn't he done so this time? One phone call to hear her voice. But he'd trusted that they would do the job. And that had been a mistake.

Cam shook her head. "No, we don't have a clue. After the doctor came out and informed us of your death, she disappeared. Angela got a call a few hours later, but that was the last we actually spoke to her. And we weren't informed of what was going on, so there was nothing we could tell her."

"She was on the list. She should have been informed." Maybe if he repeated in enough, time would reverse and it would actually happen.

"She wasn't," Cam said . "There was no way she knew anything. You can't fake a reaction like that. And to be honest, it's possible she left before they could even find her. I'm assuming there wasn't a lot of time between when you made the decision and when the doctor told us you were dead." She shook her head. "I wish she'd called after that last time."

He lifted his eyes from the table to hers. "But you have heard from her?" Booth asked. He'd latch on to any amount of hope he could find.

Cam's face was grim. She was angry at Booth for putting them through this. Angry at Brennan for thinking that walking away was the answer. In two weeks, she'd thought she'd lost two very good friends. Now one of them had miraculously reappeared. Cam finally had someone to direct her anger towards.

"One email. Nothing else. Nothing that gave us a clue of where she might be. Just enough to make us not file a missing person report."

A shudder went through him that he didn't try to hide. Reaching over, Cam put her hand on his arm. Despite her anger, she knew that Booth was going to end up suffering more for this than any of the rest of them. "She thought you were dead, Seeley. She still thinks you're dead." She paused, wondering if she should continue.

Sensing her hesitation, Booth shook his head. "You might as well say the rest of it, Cam. It's obvious Angela blames me for her leaving. I'm sure the rest of you do, too. So say it and be done with it."

"Fine," she snapped, pulling her hand back. She wished she had Angela's courage and could swing. Nothing like a little physical violence to give you an outlet for your emotions.

But she didn't yell at him, and somehow that made everything worse. "You knew her history, Seeley. You knew it and did this anyway." She held up her hand when he tried to interrupt. "I listened to your explanation, Booth. Yes, you had to keep your secret. I get it. Kind of. You put her on a list, trusted others to take care of her. Trusted that people would get to her and tell her the truth."

After a deep breath, Cam shook her head. "You told me that if I fired her, you'd go, too. Yet, when push came to shove, you left her behind. You should have found a way to check, somehow. You should have told them no when they asked. There were so many other options."

He wanted to argue with her. To tell her that he hadn't left Bones behind. But wasn't that exactly what he'd done?

A phone call, one phone call was all he'd needed to make and this entire situation would be a nightmare.

Better that, he could have told the officers no when they'd asked. But still feeling groggy from the anesthesia, he agreed to the plan.

And regretted it every single day since.

Yes, he'd trusted others. He should have known better than to trust the bureaucracy of the FBI. Could he have found a way to make the call?

Probably.

But he hadn't and it was too late to go back and change the past.

Standing, she shoved the chair back toward the table in a rare show of anger. "You're a fool, Seeley Booth. Anyone with eyes could see what you felt for her, what you feel for her right now. It's written all over your face, in the way you move since we left the cemetery. You're carrying the weight of her disappearance on your shoulders already and it's barely been an hour since you learned of it."

Booth opened his mouth to say…something. But he wasn't sure whether to apologize or try to explain again, so he closed it without saying anything.

Cam took his silence as permission to keep talking. To make the weight on his shoulders heavier. "She spent the last two weeks thinking you would never come back and now that it's not true, we can't even call and tell her."

Hodgins, hearing the commotion, had come up the stairs behind Cam. "Go," he said, not taking his eyes from Booth. "Let me talk to him," he offered. The women were too upset to give Booth any of the information he was looking for.

Taking a deep breath, Cam nodded in relief. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this angry at anyone. Anger fueled by worry for Dr. Brennan.

Hodgins pulled a chair toward him and sat across from Booth. "What do you need to know, man?" Hodgins asked.

He recognized the look of a man who was suffering, he'd worn it once or twice himself. No, Hodgins didn't believe in words like national security, but Booth had always believed in what he did. If they asked to keep the secret, he would have, despite what it way going to cost him. He would have trusted others to take care of notifications. It wouldn't matter, now, why they hadn't made them.

Knowing Booth, he wouldn't forgive himself until he saw Dr. B. again. And if her father had anything to do with hiding her, as many of them suspected he had, that could be a very long time.

"I wish someone could tell me where Bones went." Booth refused to look at the scientist. Any sign of kindness and he was afraid he'd break.

Of all the people Booth expected to come talk to him, Hodgins was the last one he would have picked.

Hodgins chuckled, but he wasn't amused. "We all wish someone could tell us that."

"Can you give me a timeline, anything at all?" His voice bordered on desperate and Booth wondered how much more he could take. "Why didn't you just run her name? This lab works with the FBI for God's sake!"

"You think we didn't already do that? But Dr. B. has some family that knows how to disappear, in case you've forgotten. I'm sure she had a little help becoming a ghost."

"Damn that Max," Booth grumbled. But he was relieved that at least she wasn't alone. Unfortunately it wasn't Booth who was with her right then.

A brief nod from Hodgins indicated his agreement with that statement. "This is what we know. The doctor informed her, informed us, of your death. She left the hospital immediately. Later that night she called Angela to let her know she was okay, even though, according to Angie, she wasn't. We went to her place the next day to find a note telling us she was leaving and not to look for her."

"But you looked?"

Hodgins gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. "Angie spent the next week breaking into every computer database she could think of. Dr. B. hasn't used her credit cards or accessed her bank account. Not long after we got an email from an Internet cafe in New York City. It told us to quit looking for her. So, after a lot of discussion, we decided to honor her wishes."

Hodgins looked away and back again. "That was before…this," he added.

Booth shoved the cup away from him, watching the coffee splash across the table. "I'll find her," he declared.

"No, you won't." Angela had come up behind Hodgins and put a hand on his shoulder. "If I couldn't find her, you aren't going to either. This is hopeless, and it's because of you."

Slamming his hand down on the table, Booth stood and began to pace. "She doesn't know I'm alive. Someone needs to tell her the truth."

"The time for that has come and gone," Angela said. "How are we going to tell her? We can't even find her? And what is your explanation going to be? You thought so little of her feelings you were okay with letting her believe you were dead for two weeks?"

Angela's words were painful as they slammed into his brain. If Angela couldn't find Bones, what chance did he have?

"But," he argued. He tried to find the words to convince Angela, and himself, that they could do this. But he also knew that she would want no part of helping him. "The whole thing was a mistake. I put her on the list. It wasn't my fault she wasn't told. Wasn't my fault that the calls weren't made, that she left before they could make them. I ordered them to tell her." He paused, knowing nothing he said at this point was going to change Angela's mind. "Don't you want to find her?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course, I do. But she doesn't want us to find her, thanks to you." Taking her hand from Hodgins' shoulder, Angela approached the man she'd once considered a perfect match for Brennan. She didn't stop until she'd invaded his personal space, forcing her to look up at him. Despite their height difference, it was clear she was the bigger threat at the moment. "Go away, Booth. You have all the information we know and that's all you're going to get from us."

She turned to walk away, before turning back around one last time. "Maybe this isn't your fault and maybe you didn't mean any of it. But you're here and she isn't. That's all I can see.

"And if the FBI wants to continue this partnership, tell them to find a new agent." She raked her eyes from his head to his feet and back again. "I don't ever want to see you again."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Booth refused to give in to the weight settling on his shoulders. He didn't try to stop Hodgins as he followed Angela back down the stairs to the main part the lab.

Leaning against the railing, Booth stared at the area that had become a second home to him. Yet the one person he looked to find, the one person who'd help create that home, was gone. And knowing there was no one else to blame made the whole thing even more painful.

She was his best friend, the best he'd ever had. And if he was honest, it was more than friendship he'd begun to feel for her. But it was obvious to him that she wasn't ready for that step so he hadn't pushed. Being in her presence had been enough.

Now? One decision had cost him Bones, and the crazy friendships he'd manage to form. Even Cam, who he'd known for years, didn't appear to want anything to do with him.

He regretted very few of his decisions he'd made as an FBI agent. But he knew this one would haunt him.

With nothing more there for him, Booth walked away. He kept his head down, avoiding looks that encompassed everything from pity to rage. There would be no welcome for him here until Bones returned from wherever she'd run to.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: First an apology for the angst. It will start to get better from here. Slowly. Keep faith. I always write happy endings._

 _This was originally meant to be two separate chapters. But it was either two short chapters or one longer one. I went with longer._

 _Thanks for the reviews. As always, I don't own Bones._

 _BBBBBBBBBBB_

 _Several days after Booth's death..._

She entered the Internet cafe on legs that weren't entirely steady. Not that anything in her world had been steady over the last few days.

Brennan hadn't known it was possible to feel this way. To feel like your body wasn't connected to the ground the way it used to be.

It took the death of her partner to teach her that.

When she found herself rubbing at her chest and shoulder, Brennan forced her hand back to her side. During the last few days, whenever she thought of Booth's death, her hand had moved to reflect his wound on her own body. As if, by putting her hand there, she could stop the bullet that had taken his life.

The bullet that should have been hers. He shouldn't have stepped in front of her like that.

But that's the kind of man he is or was, she corrected herself as she moved toward an empty computer in the corner.

She was a brilliant woman, why couldn't she remember the correct tense when she spoke of him. He was the past, now. She needed to use past tense.

There was no future for the two of them anymore. Not that she was sure what that meant, either. None of this made any sense.

Why couldn't she compartmentalize like she had so many times in the past? It hadn't been this way when her parents left. Brennan closed off her heart, made a new life for herself in order to survive.

Without Booth, she wasn't sure what kind of life was left for her. Or how to even begin it.

"I have to send a message to the team, Max," she explained to him on the sidewalk. He'd crossed his arms and stared at her, but she refused to back down. "I have to tell them not to look for me, or they won't quit trying until they find me. And they will find me," she added.

Finally, he'd nodded, even if he disagreed with her assessment of their skills. He knew what steps to take so she wouldn't be found. "We won't be here long enough for them to get here before we leave again. And it will give me time to get the final few pieces in place." He paused to stare at the woman he barely knew, but had dropped everything to help. She was his daughter, after all. "Are you sure about this, Tempe? Maybe you should stay with the team, grieve together."

But she backed away so fast, Max reached out a hand to keep her from tripping. "He was my partner," she argued. "Just my partner."

"Then why are you running?" he asked, but turned his offered hand palm up before she answered. "Never mind. Go take care of what you need to take care of and I'll do the same. Will ten minutes be enough?"

Ten minutes to wrap up the last few years of her life. Was that all the impact she'd left behind, that ten minutes was all it would take?

If Booth had still been alive, it would have taken much longer than that. But without him, the life she was leaving behind no longer held much meaning for her.

And she would not analyze what that meant. She was avoiding quite a bit.

"Ten minutes will be plenty," she answered, before turning away from him.

Max shook his head as she walked away from him. It was a mistake for her to do this. But his daughter was stubborn, and unable to deal with her own feelings. No matter what he said to her, she refused to change her mind.

He hadn't dared say what he wanted to: Booth would be so disappointed. That he wouldn't want her to run away from the life he died to save. Max feared Tempe would jump out of the car at full speed if he'd even so much as suggested the thought.

So he'd help her instead. At least that way, he would know where she was.

The computer was already on, and she entered the information from her credit card. What difference did it make if she used it? Let them trace her here. By the time they found the computer, accessed the tapes, she would be long gone. And Temperance Brennan would cease to exist for a time. It wasn't the first time she'd changed identities. Apparently, it was something she was good at. Perhaps she was a bit more like her father than she wanted to admit.

Please don't look for me, the email said. Let me go. She needed to do this. When she was ready, if she was ever ready, she'd let them know where to find her.

And just in case they couldn't do that, because she knew Angela wouldn't do that, Brennan had made other plans.

Hence the call to her father.

She looked up to see Max standing in the door, the cap pulled low, his face turned away from the camera. Despite the acquittal, some habits died hard.

Was this a habit of hers, running away when things were hard? How often had she gone to different countries, accepted invitations to digs in remote places, just so she wouldn't have to deal with her own emotions?

Brennan knew she was probably making a mistake. She also knew she couldn't face her life without Booth.

At least, not yet. Maybe she'd eventually figure out what all of this meant.

She wasn't very hopeful. The one person who'd explain it to her was gone. There wasn't anyone else she'd ask.

With a nod to her father, she closed the email account.

And said good-bye to her old life.

She followed Max to a small blue car, where he turned and handed her the keys.

"Everything is in your new name. In the glove box is enough paperwork that you will be able to hide behind your new identity for quite some time."

"What will I do for money?" she heard herself ask. It was like someone else was running her body. "What if they tell me I look like the famous author?"

"Laugh and tell them you hear that all the time," Max said. "Most people won't question it any further than that. I opened a bank account, too," he added, answering her first question. "Also in your new name. I called my guy and transferred enough money for you to live on."

"I'll pay you back," she promised. "And my team will trace the transfer."

He waved his hand. "Don't worry about it." Did she think he only had bank accounts under his current name? He had burner phones and secret bank accounts no one would ever trace. "Listen, Tempe, you know how I feel about what you're doing."

"It's a mistake. You made that clear on the drive here, Max," she heard the implication, even when he hadn't directly said the words. "But it's my life and my mistake to make."

Max nodded. "I'll keep your secret for you. But I want you to make me a promise."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but finally nodded.

"In six months, I want you to send a note to Angela with your address on it. Even if you don't think you're ready. Or make the phone call. I know it's hard to lose someone you love-"

"I didn't love him," she snapped, causing several people to turn toward her as they walked past.

Max smiled sadly. "It's still hard to lose someone. Even if you only loved them as a partner, " he explained gently. "But you can't hide forever, Tempe. Stopping your life because Booth died would make him angry." There, he said it.

"He's dead, he won't know," she snapped. And was angry when her voice caught.

Max shrugged. "You have your beliefs and I have mine. In six months, I want you to start taking steps to start living again. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Booth."

He'd liked the man, Max admitted to himself. Hard for him to say when Booth had been on the wrong side of the law, as far as he was concerned. Still, he made his daughter happy, and that alone was enough for him to accept the man.

"I'm alive now, Max. I haven't died," she said, refusing to choke on the word a second time.

He reached out to hug her, but she stepped back, and Max was forced to abandon the move. "The address is already set in the GPS. You'll make it today, easily. Drive safe, Tempe."

Without a word of thanks, or good-bye, she entered the car and pulled away from the curb. In the rear view mirror, she watched her father disappear from view.

She traveled for more than an hour before the first rest stop appeared. Pulling off the interstate, she steered the car to a far corner of the lot, parking beneath a canopy of trees.

Finally stopped, she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel.

And finally allowed herself to cry.

BBBBBBBBBBBB

Booth spent the next six weeks running her name through every database he had access to and several he shouldn't.

The results were always the same.

No hits.

No results.

No record of that name.

He'd made the same searches on Max and every alias that had ever been associated with the man. But Max was a career criminal who'd hidden himself for decades. He knew how to cover his tracks.

And he had no idea Booth was looking for him. Would he come forward if he knew Booth lived? Or would he keep Bones hidden from him as some sort of sick revenge?

Booth wished he could find the man and ask him.

Angela refused to take his calls and while Cam actually answered her phone, she refused to discuss anything with him.

Any mention of Bones led to an immediate change of subject. As of yet, Cam wasn't talking about replacing her. Not even on a temporary basis. If she had her way, that would continue until Bones returned.

He lost count of the number of hours he actually slept, but Booth was sure it was never more than three or four a night. He quit shaving, until he was reminded of FBI policy. That had been followed by a meeting several days later, informing Booth that his partnership with the Jeffersonian had been terminated.

His boss had expected an argument. Booth walked away without a word.

Hodgins was a bit more forthcoming, when Booth could talk to him alone. Which was increasingly more difficult to do since Booth was no longer welcome at the Jeffersonian. He'd received an email that his access card had been deactivated.

No one had heard from Bones, and no one expected to hear from her. At least not until she'd found her footing again. Given her history, that could be anywhere from six hours to never.

Angela knew Hodgins was meeting with Booth, despite what they both thought. In this case, she decided to feign ignorance. If Booth actually found Brennan, at least Hodgins would probably be informed.

But Angela didn't expect him to find her. Brennan was gone, with her father's help. Angela couldn't help but respect a man who could pull off such a thing.

And simultaneously hate him for it.

Calling in several favors, Booth managed to get his hands on the security tapes from the cafe in New York. He'd watched that video so many times, he could see the images behind closed eyes.

She'd walked in, accessed the computer, typed the email and hit send. It was clear, at least to Booth, that she was holding herself together through shear force of will. Several times, she brushed at her eyes, wiping away what Booth was sure were tears.

It broke his heart.

It was the last frame, that told him everything he needed to know about her disappearance. As she headed toward the door, a man Booth would recognize anywhere stepped up next to her.

Max.

The sound of Booth's palm striking his desk the first time he saw the image had several agents looking up in shock. Then ducking their heads again.

All were aware of what had taken place. Before, they'd respected Booth. Some hoped to be half the agent he was.

Now, several of them feared him. He appeared one breath away from shooting something. Or someone. Or maybe himself.

It was safer for all of them to avoid drawing his attention. At least until this whole mess blew over. Or until he transferred.

What Hodgins had surmised was right; Brennan had help disappearing. Max had spent twenty years hiding from the FBI and fellow criminals who would have liked nothing better than to kill him. Hiding a devastated woman would be a piece of cake.

When that devastated woman was his own daughter? There was nothing Max wouldn't do to protect his children. He'd proven that once.

Freezing the tape on that last image, Booth stared at the screen for what felt like hours, knowing what he was going to have to do. It was just going to take him a lot longer to accept that he had to do it.

He was going to have to let her go.

And pray, every single night, that she'd find her way back home again.

BBBBBBBBBB

Brennan walked into a cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. The drive had been peaceful, the exact opposite of a mind in turmoil.

It was just as well she'd left the Jeffersonian, at least for now. Even the naming of bones in the skeleton did little to sooth her. There was no way she'd be able to work on anything more difficult.

Booth was dead. He'd stepped in front of a bullet to save her life, and in doing so, lost his.

Her computer went on the desk in front of the large picture window. There was no internet here, but that didn't mean she couldn't work on her latest novel.

Agent Andy, as much as she denied it, was based on Booth. Did that mean he would have to die as well? Otherwise she'd be forced to continue to write a relationship she'd never have herself.

Would she keep up the fantasy as a poor replacement for her reality? Or would her novel mirror her own life?

Details. She would worry about the details later.

She could place bird feeders out on the porch and watch the birds. The peace and quiet would be wonderful for her writing. Brennan had never taken a real vacation. This was her chance.

"I can do this," she said. Her voice echoed off empty walls.

Except she didn't know what she was supposed to do. Was she supposed to forget Booth? That was never going to happen. Her endless nightmares made sure of that.

She only had one thing she needed to accomplish in the next six months.

She had to find a way to let Booth go.

So she could go home again.


	5. Chapter 5

_Six months later…_

Six months and five days after that afternoon in the cemetery, Angela received an envelope in the mail. The typed label raised Angela's eyebrows as did the return address in the corner. A quick search identified the name as a town south of Buffalo, New York.

Intrigued, Angela tapped her pen against her desk, trying to figure out who she knew in New York. When no one came to mind, she shrugged and opened the envelope.

The name at the top of the page had her setting the paper down and taking a deep breath.

"Oh God, Brennan," she muttered, running her fingertips across the print.

She was still trying to clear her eyes enough to read what her friend had sent her when Hodgins walked into the office. "Ang? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Brennan," she said with a teary, disbelieving laugh. "She sent me some sort of paper. I can't seem to stop crying long enough to read it."

With a supportive hand on her shoulder, Hodgins leaned over to look at the computer screen. He wasn't sure if Angie wanted him to read it. "Why are you looking this place up?"

"It's where the postmark is from. What's the paper say, Hodgins?"

With Angela's permission, he picked up the paper and perused it quickly. As his eyes scanned further down the page, his smile grew bigger. "It's an address," he said. "There's no other info here, just an address."

Angela finally managed to clear her eyes enough to see. "Brennan wouldn't send anything extra. That's not her style. It's been over six months. Maybe she's finally letting us know where she is."

Growing hopeful at the thought, Angela's face brightened before darkening once again.

Reading her thoughts, Hodgins nodded slowly. "You know what we have to do."

In the past six months, Angela had come to accept that Booth had not intended any of them harm when he'd faked his death for two weeks. He had done what his job required of him, something they'd all been forced to do a time or two.

But she'd never let him know that. She'd seen him once or twice and each time, it was obvious regret for what had happened was weighing heavily on him. Any punishment she could come up with paled in comparison to what he was doing to himself.

"We need to tell Booth," Angela said softly. She took the paper back from Hodgins and plotted the address on her map.

"Yes, we - wait. What?" Hodgins stuttered. "You want to tell Booth? Not go to Dr. B. and tell her what happened?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Hodgins finally accepted that while he loved the woman in front of him, he would never really understand how her mind worked.

"His death was enough to make her disappear for six months. I'm pretty sure if she finds out he's alive before he gets to her, she's going to disappear again. Maybe this time for good. Booth needs to go find her. Let him explain what happened."

Angela had heard his explanations and added several of her own. In her mind, it boiled down to putting his job before his friends.

Some lessons had to be learned the hard way. Angela was pretty sure he'd learned this one, at least as far as Brennan was concerned. Unless he was kidnapped or arrested, he would never willingly leave her side again.

All Booth had to do was find her.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Ang," Hodgins remembered the shock that had brought his mind to a screaming halt when Booth appeared at his own funeral. To find something like that out after six months had passed could kill a person.

What kind of heartache would she suffer when Brennan learned the person she'd thought she lost hadn't really been lost at all?

"Me, either," Angela admitted. "But all she sent me is an address, which implies she doesn't want a phone call. Am I supposed to write her a letter and tell her Booth's alive? Take a picture and send it to her?"

Trying to picture her best friend's reaction to news like that, Angela shook her head slowly. Brennan was all about logic and proof. What better proof was there than a very alive Booth standing in front of her?

A man who clearly had deep feelings for her best friend. Despite their time apart, Angela could think of her as nothing less. She'd simply created her own fantasy to help her get through the loss. Brennan was on an anthropological dig on a remote island where she would be out of contact for at least a year.

Angela had hoped one year would be enough time for Brennan to deal with her grief and come home.

Decision made, Angela took the letter from Hodgins' hand and grabbed her purse. "I miss her," she said. Her eyes filled again and she took a shaky breath before continuing. "I'm not sure this is the best plan, but it's the only one that might work."

Knowing there was no changing her mind, Hodgins nodded. "If he finds her, he won't let her get away again. Not without one hell of a fight anyway."

With the letter in hand, Angela moved toward the door. "That's what I'm counting on."

Standing in the door of his office, Angela took a moment to study Booth before he noticed her. He was skinnier, she thought, and his eyes had lost some of the laughter he'd always buried just beneath the surface.

He was a handsome man and it had been clear to her that Brennan was infatuated with him. And it had terrified her. But Booth had managed to open doors Angela didn't even know there were keys for. Brennan was finally starting to not just be alive, but live.

At least until the doctor had walked into the waiting room and destroyed them all.

A gentle knock had him looking up. His eyes widened in surprise before he rose from his seat. "Angela," he greeted, his voice measured.

"Hi, Booth," she said, walking into his office and closing the door behind her. She waved her hand at him. "Sit down so we can talk."

He hesitated but finally did as she'd said. He fiddled with some of the papers on his desk before picking up his pen and twisting it nervously. "I haven't seen you for…" he hesitated, not sure what to say. "How are you?" he finally asked.

Leaning back in the chair, Angela crossed her legs and settled her purse on her lap. "You don't have to pretend we're friends anymore, Booth. This isn't a social call."

"Then what is it?" he demanded, dropping all pretense of politeness. The last six months had more painful than he would admit to anyone, even himself. Lack of sleep had been his constant companion. At least once a week, Booth continued to run Bones' name through every database he had access to, only to get the same result.

Nothing for six months. And when he was finally getting ready to give up for real, to try and accept that this one decision had cost him something he couldn't quite define, Angela appeared in his office.

Except he could define it. He knew exactly what he'd lost. Bones had been his best friend. And for a time, he thought she might have been his future.

Belatedly, Booth remembered that Angela could read people almost as well as he could. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

"You really regret what happened, don't you?" she asked. Her voice was more gentle than he expected it to be.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he said, avoiding the question. He met her eyes. "Tell me why you're here."

She smirked at him, his non answer as clear as words would have been. "It's because you regret what happened that I'm here at all, Booth. You could at least admit it."

More than once, Booth wondered what Bones had seen in the woman in front of him. Manipulative was how Booth frequently described Angela in his mind. Nosey, the woman clearly lacked boundaries.

But when it came to Bones, no one was more protective than Angela and that fact alone helped him to overlook the rest.

Booth's voice was grim when he spoke. "Yeah, I regret what happened. Despite what all of you think of me, I didn't set out to hurt any of you and Bones least of all." He swallowed and looked down at his hands. "Is that what you're here for?" he asked as he looked up again. "For an apology for what I did? I tried to give you that six months ago. None of you wanted it then. Why now?"

"I think she was in your apartment the night she called me," Angela said. She'd never admitted that to anyone, even Hodgins. She wasn't sure why she was telling Booth now.

Except if he was going to go after Brennan, he needed to know everything.

Booth quirked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see where Angela was going with all of this. He'd been an investigator for too many years not to recognize when someone was trying to work their way around to something.

"Brennan told me she couldn't compartmentalize your death." Angela's voice caught on the last word, tearing up as she remembered the sound of Brennan's voice through the phone. The emptiness of it had scared her to death. "I was afraid for her."

A tissue appeared in Angela's hand as she wiped at her eyes. "Emotions scare her, you know that. Your death was more than she could handle, more than she knew how to handle. She cared for you, Booth and that scared her, too."

A widening of his eyes was the only reaction. Was Angela trying to tell him that Bones had feelings for him that went beyond friendship? Where had she gotten that idea? "Did Bones actually tell you that?"

"Best friends see things you won't even admit to yourself. But you need to pay attention to what I'm saying. You're going to need to know all of this when you go find her."

That statement had Booth sitting forward in his chair. His palms grew damp and his heart began to race."And how in the hell am I going to do that?" Did he dare hope that Angela hinted at the one thing he'd been ready to give up on? Had she found Bones?

The tissue was replaced by a white sheet of paper. "With this," she said, holding it out to him.

A hand that Booth worked hard to keep steady took the paper from Angela. "What is this?"

"It came in the mail today. Brennan sent it to me. She might be there, she might not. But it's a way to reach her, which means she'll probably check the box. I don't usually condone stalking, but in this case, I'd encourage it."

"And you brought this to me?" Booth asked. "Why didn't you just go yourself?"

A sigh escaped Angela's lips. "I'm not sure how to explain."

"Try," he demanded.

She nodded. "I still blame you for her leaving, but I'm not angry about it anymore. We've all done things for our jobs, and I figure you thought Brennan would be okay with us around her. And there was the fact that she was supposed to be informed."

Her eyes moving around the office, they came to rest on a picture Booth had tucked into the back corner. It was of he and Brennan, taken not long after the successful conclusion of one of their cases.

"You put your job first, Booth. As she often did. A mistake you both made."

Booth knew where her eyes had landed and made no move to turn around to see what she was looking at. "I take it you think I learned a lesson?"

Her eyes came back to his. "Didn't you?"

His first clue, he thought, breaking the stare to look at that single sheet of paper. Booth wanted to leap from his chair and start driving. Except he'd never heard of this place. Where had Bones gone?

"If she wanted to see me," Angela continued, "I think she would have given me more than an address. I think it was an invitation for a letter, maybe, and nothing else. Which brings me to you."

Booth looked up. "You want me to write her a letter?"

"I want you to go get her. I'm not going to tell her you're alive that way. She'll run again. You have to stop her from running. She needs to face that she didn't lose her chance."

The last statement made no sense to him. "Lose her chance at what, Angela?"

Not answering, Angela stood and prepared to leave the office. "That's up to the two of you to figure out."


	6. Chapter 6

Six days after Angela appeared in his office, Booth sat outside the post office of a little town that was barely big enough to show up on most maps.

He still couldn't correctly pronounce the county it was located in.

Max had picked the perfect location for her. No one would have ever found this place, not that they'd ever look for her in it.

How had she survived here? Without her name, she couldn't teach. But given the success of her novels, Bones surely had enough money to not have to work for a time.

Surprisingly, Booth wasn't going to have to work for some time, either. He hadn't been without a steady job since his teen years. Clearing all the case files off his desk had been relatively easy. It seemed the other agents were eager to assist if that meant he was taking a vacation. A really long vacation. Looking back on it, Booth was forced to admit he had been a little difficult to work with lately.

An extended leave of absence from his job had also been easier than expected. But perhaps, like the agents from his office, his bosses had also been hoping he would take a break. Without Bones to assist him, the cases that came across his desk had become a bit more difficult to close. There were two that Booth was sure he wouldn't close until Bones returned. It had been another source of stress he hadn't dealt with well.

Booth typed two letters for that last meeting: one requesting the leave and a letter of resignation. Laying both on his boss's desk, Booth asked him to choose.

Six weeks was what he was given, at which point a meeting would be required to decide on his return date. Or his resignation date. The decision would be his.

It seemed like an awfully long time to persuade Bones to come back to Washington with him. To tell her that he hadn't died. Still, knowing Bones, it wouldn't be easy to get her to trust him again.

Honestly, he wasn't sure Bones would ever trust him again. And in the darkest hours before dawn, Booth worried that not only would she never trust him again, Bones would refuse to speak to him after discovering the truth.

And if that was the case, would he return to a job that no longer held much meaning for him? Or would he also have to find a new path, away from the one he'd been sure Bones would walk with him?

With a little help from a real estate agent, Booth rented a small place outside of town. If it really took almost two months, he didn't want to spend that time living from a hotel. Not that there were a lot of options where he'd ended up. And in the long run, it was cheaper to rent than pay to stay in a hotel.

The realtor had praised the location as rural, yet still close enough to town to not feel totally isolated.

He wondered if the definition of isolated had changed since the last time he looked it up.

The little house was definitely in the middle of nowhere. It was surrounded on three sides by a state forest. The road leading to it would have been smoother if they hadn't paved it. The potholes were big enough to swallow his SUV.

Of course, coming from Washington, DC, this entire town was in the middle of nowhere. There was a main street that had to be less than a half-mile long.

And only one stoplight. Booth didn't go to many towns that had only one stoplight.

But looking down that short street, Booth was forced to admit it was kind of pretty. It was a place to retire to, a place to spend quiet hours watching the sunset or thunderstorms roll through the valley. Quaint and peaceful, he was sure this place hadn't seen a murder in years.

It was so opposite of where he'd come from, Booth fought the urge to shudder.

And despite the fact he'd been waiting outside this post office for two days, he still hadn't seen Bones.

There was a chance she wasn't even in this town. That he'd rented a house and sat in his car for nothing. That her father had taught her how to use drop boxes and have mail forwarded so no one could find her.

All of that seemed pointless though, based on what little Angela told him. She was here. Bones wanted to be found.

Besides, his gut told him he was in the right place. So despite the time that passed, he continued to wait. To watch. And to hope there was soon going to be an end to the nightmare of not knowing where she rested her head at night.

He needed her to be safe. To be whole. He needed to know for sure that the mistakes that were made hadn't cost her more than it already had.

People were starting to notice him. Soon there would be questions he couldn't answer. He supposed he should go around town and make it known he'd moved into the area. But if Bones saw him before he saw her, she could run before he ever got a chance to stop her.

It was like being on a stakeout. He drank a lot of bad coffee from the shop up the street and ate several meals in the car. The coffee in this town couldn't hold a candle to his favorite cart in DC.

There were people he was starting to recognize. Like the woman with the dog currently entering the post office. The rules were a little more relaxed here, because she held the door open for the dog so it could follow her in.

Then there was the gentleman driving the pick-up truck on steroids. Red in color, wild flames painted on the hood, the tires were some of the tallest Booth had ever seen on a vehicle. He came every day at three and left with several boxes. The investigator in Booth wondered what the driver picked up.

It was the observation of the locals that helped him spot her. A blue Prius pulled up a little before four. Very few people, he'd noted, drove anything that wasn't at least all-wheel drive. Apparently, this area received quite a bit of snow in the winter. He'd even heard one person mention seven feet over three days, which he found almost impossible to believe.

Leaning forward in his seat, he pulled the ball cap he wore a little lower on his face. It was her. It had to be her. Knowing he was mere seconds from seeing her again had anxiety making his breath short.

She exited her little eco-friendly car, and Booth's hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He'd imagined this moment for six months. That instant when his eyes would see her outside of his dreams.

Bones was still beautiful. Her hair was longer and she wore jeans and a t-shirt. She'd clearly been here for some time, as she stopped to speak to several people as she made her way into the post office.

Her look of disappointment was clear to him when she came out empty handed. It was obvious that she was hoping for a letter from Angela.

Angela hadn't sent a letter. She'd sent him instead. Was that better or worse?

Booth wanted to exit the car and grab her. That move, unfortunately, was a bad idea. It was a mistake to approach her in public, where her reaction was unpredictable. It was better to wait and see her in private.

Before entering her vehicle, she picked her head up and looked directly at the SUV he sat in. Booth fought the urge to slide further down in his seat, knowing she wouldn't have a clear view of him.

There was a look of longing on her face that she would deny if he ever asked her about it. But it was clear, to him, that she missed what she'd left behind.

And, he dared to hope, she'd missed him, as well.

As she pulled back into traffic, Booth pulled out behind her. He didn't worry that she would find it suspicious. Bones wouldn't expect him to come find her. She wouldn't expect to see him at all. He was dead, after all, at least to her.

He was more than a little surprised when she turned up the same road he'd rented a house on. Driving past, he pulled over and waited several minutes before following.

Slowly, he made his way up toward his rental, looking carefully at all of the houses as he passed. It was in front of the third one that he spotted her car.

She was out on the deck, filling bird feeders. That activity made it clear to Booth that she wasn't just spending time here, she'd made a home for herself. A new life, that hadn't included her friends from the Jeffersonian.

Clearly, she'd built a life that didn't include him either, but she couldn't be faulted for that. The only fact she'd had to work with was his death.

Booth kept driving, careful to keep his cap low on his head as he went by. She looked up briefly, but went back to what she was doing. By the time the house had disappeared from his sight, so had she.

Now, a bigger problem. What to do? How do you let someone know that you aren't actually dead? Doing it in public was a bad idea, so he knew he'd made a good decision to not confront her there. So was calling her on the phone, not that he knew the number.

It seemed the only option he had was to knock on the door and wait for her to answer. Tonight. He'd been waiting six months, even one night more was not an option.

Pulling into the drive of his own rental, Booth didn't go inside, instead choosing to sit on the wide front porch. Spending a significant amount of daylight watching for Bones had prevented him from doing much more than carrying his suitcase inside. He didn't even have much food there, other than the pizza he'd picked up. He wouldn't survive here long without decent take-out food.

Which was something else this town didn't have. No take-out. No delivery. How the hell did people manage to live like this? He was already going through withdrawal from not having good Chinese food.

But she'd managed it. Given the little he'd seen outside her place, this was more than a temporary stop. She'd built a home here. Bones knew people here and they recognized her. Appeared happy to spend a couple of minutes chatting with her.

Another thought crept in before Booth had a chance to squash it. What if she had a boyfriend? Bones had made it clear that sometimes a person needed to satisfy biological urges. What if when he went to her place there was someone there?

His face reddened at the thought of Bones spending time with any man other than him. Not that they'd been dating, or anything more than partners.

Knowing he had no right to the feelings didn't stop them.

Hands that had formed fists rested on his knees. Forcing them to reopen, he smoothed his palm over the denim that covered his legs. He had no right to anything from her, he knew that.

All he could give her was the truth.

All he could pray for was forgiveness.

 _A/N: Next chapter...I promise. Sorry to keep you waiting._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Yes, I know it's a little early, but you've all been waiting so patiently..._

 _I hope I did it justice._

The sun was beginning its descent in the sky when he knocked on her door. He'd debated over what t-shirt to wear and what time to go. He spent the hours between first spotting her and now practicing what he was going to say to her.

No words were going to be enough. But he'd come up with a thousand explanations that all ended with the same thing.

A plea for her forgiveness.

His feet made soft noises on the wood of the porch as he shuffled them nervously. To his left, he saw the curtains in the window shift.

This was it. This whole, long nightmare was about to end. She'd fling open the door and hug him and accept whatever words he offered.

At least, that's how his fantasies went. This was definitely not going to go that well.

Her feet pounded the floor as she raced her way toward the door and opened it so quickly the handle flew from her hands. Clear blue eyes raced from his feet to his head and back again.

"Hey, Bones," he said. Everything he'd practiced went out of his head the minute his eyes met hers. Booth's voice was so quiet, bird song would have drowned out the words. But even the birds made no sound, as if they also waited to see how this would play out.

She reached out, and shaky fingers brushed down his arm before she snatched her hand back again. Grabbing for the door, Brennan closed it in his face as quickly as she'd opened it.

He blinked, then reached his own shaky hand forward to rest it against the door. She'd been wearing one of his shirts. And her feet were bare. "It's me, Bones," he called. "I know you don't understand right now, but there was a mistake."

Wiping at his eyes, he took a shaky breath. It didn't surprise him that he was reacting so strongly to being close to her again.

Yes, he'd definitely missed her.

When the door didn't open a second time, he closed his hand into a fist and knocked on it gently. He wouldn't do this through a closed door.

"Please, Bones," he begged. He rested his forehead against the door, sliding the hand down to rest on the handle. "Please open the door. I swear it's me. It was all a mistake and I'm sorry."

He listened for her on the other side of the door, wondering what she was thinking. Was she standing there, or had she escaped to the rear of the house?

Taking his hand from the handle, he pounded a fist a little harder against the locked door.

"I just want a chance to explain. Please don't make me do it through a closed door. Just open the door, Temperance."

Her given name felt foreign on his lips. He hoped its use would make her realize how serious he was. Booth had no intention of leaving until he spoke to her directly, even if it meant breaking down the door to get to her.

Brennan leaned against the door before allowing her legs to give way. Sliding to the floor, she rested her forehead on bent knees.

Her eyes were dry. She attributed the reaction to shock. What other emotion explained her feelings? It wasn't every day your dead partner reappeared on your porch.

The knocks continued on the door. Her partner, had been, still was, tenacious. He wouldn't leave until she opened the door again. But she was struggling to figure out what verb tense to use. Again. It had taken weeks for her to get it right the first time. Coordinating her muscles so she could stand again felt like an impossible task.

It would't hurt him to wait. She'd spent six months living in hell. He could wait to offer an explanation for five more minutes.

"I'm here," she said. But her face still faced the floor and there was no chance of him hearing her voice.

Her head coming up from her knees, it hit the door with a thud. Outside, the knocking ceased, as if he'd heard the noise and knew she was still there.

Brennan had to open the door, she knew this. Every answer she'd wanted for the last six months waited on the other side of this slab of wood.

But her legs refused to listen to the orders her brain gave.

"Bones, please open the door. Please," she listened to him beg. "Just give me a chance to talk to you."

"Go away," she called. It still wasn't loud enough for him to hear the command. The initial shock was clearing and she forced herself to her feet. Brennan brought her own hand up and rested it against the door, mirroring the position he'd been in a few minutes before. "You aren't supposed to be here," she said, putting enough force behind the words. Booth would hear them, even through the door.

"And you aren't supposed to be here," he countered. Talking, even through the door, was better than silence. "You were supposed to be waiting for me."

The door flew open again and Booth took a step back. He'd become leery of the opposite gender since Angela's slap. "Hey, Bones," he said again.

"I was supposed to be waiting for you?" she asked. "You were dead. They told me you were dead," she reminded him, pleased that her voice didn't catch on the word. It was the first time she'd managed to say it without feeling a need to throw up. "I made a choice with the facts I was given."

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the frame of the door. Her body vibrated with an anger she didn't know she could feel. He was dead, he wasn't dead. Anger was the nicer emotion to deal with.

"It was a mistake, Bones. You were on my list to be informed. And then you left," he added, trailing off at the look in her eyes. Better not to go there at the moment.

"Adding something incorrectly is a mistake, Booth. Your partner thinking you're dead for six months is something beyond that. I have a substantial vocabulary and even I can't think of a word to describe it."

Desperate for an explanation, she waited in silence, realizing that there probably wasn't going to be one. Or at least not one that she liked.

Booth had put her name on a some list and something had occurred to prevent her being informed of his subterfuge. It didn't take a genius of her level to figure it out.

She'd disappeared five minutes after being informed of his death. No one knew where she'd gone. It probably made any notifications a little difficult to make.

Later. She'd blame herself for this later. Right now, it was a lot easier to blame the man in front of her.

Booth shoved his hands back into the pocket of his jeans. "You're right, Bones. And I wish I could change the whole thing." He shrugged and stared into her stormy blue eyes. "But I can't. It happened and I can't change the last six months. I've lived with those mistakes."

"You knew I was alive," Brennan said. Her voice chased the silent birds from the trees around them. "You didn't spend the last six months blaming yourself for something that wasn't even true. I should have been shot. You should have let me be shot." She pointed her finger at him in anger, before tucking her hand back in the crook of the opposite arm. That way, he wouldn't see how badly it shook.

"I wouldn't let that happen to my partner if I could prevent it," Booth said. She could hide it, but it wasn't only her hand that shook, it was her entire body. He could see it. "It's my job to take the bullet for you."

"But you'd let this happen?" she asked, waving her hand to indicate everything around them.

He reached for her, to hug her or calm her, maybe to hold her hand tightly in his. He wasn't sure which. But she batted his hand away. "I didn't want any of this happen," he said. "I wanted to arrest a bad guy and go home again. It was a good plan. There was no way I could know that you weren't going to be there, after it was all over."

Closing her eyes, she was afraid to open them again. Would he still be standing there if she did? "What do you want, Booth?" she asked. "Why are you here?" Her eyes reopened to stare at him, to understand what had just happened to her life. Again.

"To tell you I'm alive," Booth said. "To let you know the truth, so you have all the facts. To ask you to come back to the Jeffersonian. To work with me again."

Her laugh was bitter. "You expect me to just go back and pick up where we left off." Shaking her head, she gestured toward the road. "Go back home, Booth. You've done what you came to do. I have nothing more to say to you."

The door swung and Booth put his hand out to stop it. "I've rented the house up the road," he said. Her eyes clouded, but he ignored it. Whether she'd believe it or not, that fact was just a lucky coincidence. "I'm not leaving just yet, Bones. The FBI has agreed with my personal assessment that I need a little break from my job."

"Then take it somewhere else," Brennan said. She pushed harder at the door, but Booth refused to let it close.

"I'll be back," he promised her, knowing that it wouldn't mean much. Promises, given what happened, would be nothing more than words to her. "I hope that you'll open the door the next time, too." He removed his hand and allowed to door to slam in his face.

"Well, that went well," he muttered. Shuffling down the steps he refused to look back. He'd see her again. This wouldn't be the last time.

Because he had no intention of leaving her alone long enough to disappear again. He'd sleep on her porch if he had to.

 _Another note: Thank you for all the reviews. Don't fear, this isn't the end. Our favorite couple isn't happy yet. We can't leave them here._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: The reactions to the last chapter were more than I hoped for. Thank you so much for your positive comments and_ _encouragement_ _. I hope you find this chapter just as good._

 _Thanks for all the follows and likes._

"How could you?" she demanded into the phone. "Why didn't you tell me the truth months ago? How dare you keep that from me?"

"Tempe?" Max asked. Confused he found a quiet bench to sit down on. His friend would be arriving soon for their daily game of chess, but he had a few minutes. Max hadn't expected to field an angry phone call from his daughter while he was waiting.

"Yes, it's me. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Tempe? Did something happen at home?" He knew she'd recognize he referred to DC and not the cabin where she'd spent the last months. That place was a safe house, but it would never be her home.

"Yes, Max, something happened. Booth showed up on my porch today."

Sure he'd heard her wrong, Max pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it, before bringing it up again. "Sorry, honey, we must have a bad connection. I thought you said Booth was there with you."

Brennan made a sound and Max wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a sob. "It's not the connection. He's here, dad. He's not dead."

Dad wasn't a word she used often, and Max wondered what it meant that she chose to use it now. Had she used it without thinking, as a reflection of her anger? Or was it because she needed more support than she was willing to ask for? "Are you sure, Tempe?" How had he missed this?

Her sigh echoed across the line. "Of course, I'm sure. When the man is standing in front of you, it's hard not to be. You really didn't know?"

Of course, he hadn't. Otherwise he'd have killed Booth for real, before he ever got a chance to stand on his daughter's porch. "I swear on your mother's grave that I had no idea."

Was that why his guy in DC had been desperately trying to contact him? He'd ignored the call and the increasingly frantic messages for months. Like his daughter, he'd wanted nothing to do with the city they'd left behind.

She might not have believed him except for the mention of her mother. "Did you ever go back to see how things were?" But then again, she hadn't attempted to find out either.

"No, I told you that. I went west. I haven't been on that side of the Mississippi since the day I left you. I've been busy…with other things."

Illegal things, Brennan was sure, but she left the comment unsaid. "What I am supposed to do now?" she asked. Not that she expected her father to have a clear answer.

"Did you talk to him?" Max asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to decide if this was a good or bad thing. Nervous energy forced him to his feet.

"He talked. I yelled," she admitted. "Then I told him to go home and shut the door in his face. I don't want to see him."

"Yes, you do," Max said gently, pacing back and forth. "Please don't pretend with me, Tempe. I remember when your mother died, how many nights I wished for one more moment, one more chance. Don't tell me you haven't wished for the same."

Of course, she had. During the night when she couldn't sleep. During the day when she wore grief like a blanket. One so heavy, she could do little more than shuffle from the bed to the couch.

At least in the beginning. As the months had passed, the blanket had become a little lighter. The movements were a little easier. The day she'd mailed the letter to Angela, Brennan finally felt like she could stand straight again. It was that moment she acknowledged she was ready to go home again.

Now this? A situation so impossible to believe it was almost laughable. Could she go home again and pick up where she'd left off? Was it possible for her to put her anger and guilt aside and work with Booth again?

And if the answer was no, could she shut herself off enough to walk away again?

Silence gave Max his answer. "I'm not coming out there, Tempe," he said. Max waved his hand and motioned toward his friend. He'd be there in a minute. "As much as I'd like to kill the man, I think that might be inappropriate, given everything that's happened."

"I was ready to go home," Brennan admitted. Moving a curtain slightly, she caught a glimpse of what she was pretty sure was a vehicle. It was parked just behind the trees at the edge of her lawn. "But I don't think I can go home again until this is settled between us, one way or the other."

"Then settle it," Max ordered. "And then go home. I'll expect to see you there the next time I'm in the city, when I have some business to take care of in the city." And an apology to his contact he probably should deliver in person.

"A couple weeks then," Brennan whispered. "That should be plenty of time. I'll see you then."

Moving the curtain back into position, Brennan headed toward the back of her place. She wanted a shower, and then she was going to bed. If Booth wanted to sit out there, let him. It was a waste of time. She wasn't running.

She had plenty of time to make sure Booth knew exactly how angry she was.

The anger would bury the hurt. When that faded away, she didn't know what she would do.

Brennan awoke with a gasp, flailing blindly at the blanket she'd pulled over her to ward off the chill.

When Brennan sent the letter to Angela, this dream had ceased. Even with her disbelief in psychology, she knew why it had reappeared.

A single bullet delivered into the chest of the man standing in front of her. No matter how many times she had the dream, Brennan had never managed to save him.

Tonight, the doctor in her dream informed her Booth lived. Except he hadn't wanted to see her. Instead, the doctor stated Brennan was to blame for Booth's injuries. She'd spent months blaming herself. Now Booth blamed her, too.

It was only dream. But it echoed her real life so closely, it left her shaken.

Damn that man to the hell he believed in for putting her through this.

How would she forgive him?

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she considered the other question she'd been trying to avoid.

How would she forgive herself?

Not for the shooting or not doing enough to save him. What Brennan did that night six months had been enough. Booth lived and was well enough to stand on her front porch and demand to be heard.

She'd left everything behind to hide from a pain she couldn't face. Only to realize that had she made different choices, she wouldn't have had to face it at all.

Angela would have held her hand and known all the truths Brennan couldn't admit to herself. Cam would have let her bury herself in work.

But she'd run away. There was more than one kind of family, Booth had said to her. And in losing him, she'd walked away from the only one she'd had in years.

Admitting that made her stomach clench in knots. But emotions were a weak spot for her, and without Booth to explain them, she hadn't been able to cope. She'd survived the only way she knew how.

Was Booth really to blame for that?

Rising, she glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. She knew, without going to the window to look, that Booth still waited for her outside.

"Go home," she said. But he wouldn't hear. And even if he did, he wouldn't listen.

And if she was honest with herself, she didn't want him to.

What was she going to do?

Fifteen minutes later, she approached his vehicle, a cup of coffee in each hand. If he was surprised to see her, it didn't show. Nor did he look guilty for sitting outside her house for hours. Exiting the vehicle, he took the offered cup, careful to avoid direct contact with her hand.

"Nightmare?" he asked, recognizing the shadows around her eyes. He'd learned during the nights spent on her couch that her sleep wasn't always calm. "What haunts you this night, Bones?"

The night air was cool on her skin. Brennan's shoes left her toes bare, and she wiggled them to keep them warm. Booth wore nothing but a thin t-shirt, but he didn't shiver. If he was cold, he hid it well.

A coyote howled in the distance and Brennan closed her eyes and listened.

"I don't know what to say to you," she said, reopening her eyes. She ignored his earlier question. That he still knew her so well, even after six months, had her further questioning all the decisions she'd made. Brennan took a sip from the cup in her hand, her eyes never leaving his face.

What haunted her this night was him. His loss and his reappearance. But she was sure he knew that.

"Me, either," he said. It hadn't been this awkward between them, ever. Even when they'd been early partners, it had never been like this. "I missed you," he offered, a confession in the darkness. "And I've been worried about you. That's what haunts me tonight, Bones."

She hadn't asked, and turned away from him. Raw honesty from him was something she wasn't ready to deal with. It was more than she could handle from herself.

Booth watched as she turned. He thought she was going back inside, but instead, she leaned against the front bumper, her back to him. She could give him nothing and it would be okay with him. But he would give her nothing less than everything.

"You can go get some sleep," she said. "I'm not going to be gone in the morning." It appeared she still knew him as well.

"I won't sleep," Booth said. If it was easier for her to speak with her face turned away, hidden by darkness, so be it. One step at a time.

A howl rose from the trees, and the sound was so empty, Booth shivered. "Do they always sound like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" she asked, wondering what he heard in a simple howl.

"Lonely," he said. "It sounds very lonely." Was he talking about the coyote, or himself?

Was she lonely, he wondered. Did he have the right to ask her to return to the city with him when she'd built a life for herself here? Not that it seemed to be much of one. No other traffic had come up this road since his arrival. And he hadn't seen her in town before her appearance at the post office.

Was she living? Or stuck in neutral waiting for…he wasn't sure what.

And if she refused to return, would he? Or would he stay just to be close to her?

She glanced back toward him, then up at the sky. "I'd forgotten how many stars you could see without the city lights to hide them."

"They hid you," he said.

"I don't know what that means," she said. "Stars don't hide people."

"Too literal, Bones." His eyes shifted up, before returning to stare at her back. He feared he would wake up soon, and this would be a dream. "I looked up, when I left work at night. Wondered what stars you were looking at." He took another sip of the coffee, wondering how hers was so much better than the stuff he'd purchased in town. "Hoped you were still in the states somewhere."

If he'd looked at stars after work, he'd been putting in long hours. "I didn't talk to you," she said. "You were dead. It is foolish to think a dead person can hear you."

Booth shrugged, despite the fact she didn't see it. "I talked to you," he said. "Every single damn day, I talked to you."

Turning, her blue eyes were wide. There was just enough light to see them in the darkness. "There was no way for me to hear you."

"I didn't need you to. I did it because it helped me feel close to you."

"I don't understand what happened, Booth. And I don't want to. Not right now," she said quickly. She knew he'd try to explain again, and she wasn't ready for that. The few words he'd just said to her were more than enough.

"Was it worse for me to believe you were dead, or was it harder to know that I was alive but be unable to find me?"

"I don't know, Bones," Booth said. He watched her take a step back, realizing she hadn't meant to say the words aloud. "At least if I was dead, you didn't have to worry if I was hurt or suffering somewhere. You don't believe in heaven and hell so as far as you're concerned my time was over."

Looking down at the coffee cup, he licked his lips. "I spent every single day knowing you were suffering and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Knowing you blamed yourself for the choice I made. Knowing," he said, bringing his eyes back to hers, "that I would make the same choice every time, no matter the cost."

"I blamed myself," she said. "For months, I blamed myself. Now, I'm just angry. You come here and offer me words that are supposed to make me feel better. Instead, they do the opposite. They make me feel guilty for leaving. It that how you planned for this to go?"

"I didn't have a plan. At least, not much of one. But, you shouldn't, blame yourself," he added. Her anger was more than justified. "My job was to protect you. I couldn't live with your death, Bones. It's more than I could ever handle. I didn't think about you having to live with mine. Didn't think you would have to."

She bit her lip and pulled away from his vehicle. He wondered if he would ever get it right, the words he said to her. All their time together, and apart, and he still didn't have the right words.

"Go back to where you are staying, Booth. I'll be here tomorrow. My promises," she tossed back over her shoulder, "are something you can count on."

He didn't try to stop her as she walked away from him. With a final sip from the cup in his hand, he turned it over and poured the rest of the coffee at his feet. He knew, without looking, that she waited to see if he trusted her enough to leave.

Approaching the porch, he placed the now empty cup on the stairs. He stared at the front of the house for a moment, wondering if she watched him from a darkened window.

With a final glance, he climbed back into the SUV and turned it around in her driveway. Slowly, on a road that was even worse when you couldn't see which way to swerve, he returned to the empty place he was staying. There was plenty of time for them to talk. Knowing she would be there tomorrow gave him just enough peace that he would be able to get a few hours sleep.

She watched the vehicle pull away and sighed with both relief and regret. It was then, that she allowed herself to sink to the floor and weep.

When the tears slowed, she wondered how many more times Booth would do this to her. And what it meant that he could.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: In celebration of getting my power back after 36 hours...here is the next chapter._

 _Thanks for the reviews. And everything else. I appreciate it._

The sun appeared over the horizon as the door closed behind her. She was pleased to see Booth hadn't returned during the night.

Brennan wasn't sure what she was going to do. The run wouldn't help her think, but it would clear her mind. Maybe then, she could make some decisions.

Rational decisions. About forgiveness and finding her way back home again.

This was her favorite time of day. The world was at peace and Brennan envied that feeling.

Her feet found a rhythm that drove thoughts of Booth from his mind. Soon, there was nothing but the movement of air through her lungs, and watching the shadows along the road shorten.

The way was lined with bushes that dropped their leaves as the season moved closer to winter. Chipmunks, cheeks filled to bursting with nuts, darted across the path in front of her.

She understood the desire to burst. But not with the instinct to prepare herself for winter. For her, it was about dealing with emotions that Brennan didn't understand. Emotions she wanted to talk out with the one person who could help her make sense of everything.

Forgiveness was a tricky thing. By forgiving him, she was going to have to forgive herself. None of this was rational and it made her crazy.

The sound of his footsteps reached her before she sensed him. Footsteps that didn't line up with her own. Refusing to turn and acknowledge him, Brennan turned up the trail that took her deeper into the woods.

The trees were closer here, the shadows longer. The canopy heavy enough that sunlight never reached the forest floor. Her steps were muffled by decaying leaves and pine needles long turned brown.

The path was difficult to see and Brennan ran more on instinct than anything else. She'd climbed this path a couple of times each week, not stopping until she broke into the sun at the top. Today, would be no different, no matter what, or who, haunted her steps.

Booth wondered where she was leading them, but trusted her not to get them lost in the woods. He wasn't sure hovering was the right choice, but leaving her alone wasn't something he was willing to do. So far, Bones seemed to be accepting his presence and he was thankful for it.

Breaking out of the trees, she slowed her pace at the edge of a clearing. At some point in the past, a trail had been cleared around it, and she usually walked it to cool down before she jogged back down the hill.

"Nice place," Booth said, coming up next to her. He breathing was rapid and he hoped Bones didn't notice he was slightly out of shape. He'd done plenty of running during the previous months, but it hadn't involved physical activity.

"I've seen Odocoileus virginianus up here a lot. And a vulpes vulpes once."

"Bones," he groaned. "You know I don't have any idea what those are."

"Oh," she said, stopping suddenly. He took several steps forward before realizing she was no longer next to him. Turning back, he looked at her.

"You okay, Bones?"

She hadn't ever expected to have to do that again. To explain herself, her scientific words, to her partner. Brennan figured that when she went back to DC, she'd spend the rest of her life closed up in the Jeffersonian, identifying old bones and conducting research. The fact that there were other options again both thrilled and terrified her.

"Yes," she said quickly, "I'm fine. You seem a little out of shape though," she commented. "And those animals I mentioned are deer and fox."

"You could have just told me that," he said as she came back next to him. "And I'm not out of shape. I'm just not used to running up hills. There aren't too many of those at home."

Changing the topic, she asked, "Do you still do the same job?"

"At the FBI? Of course. Faking my death was part of a master plan to catch a fugitive. He showed up at the funeral. And I went back to work."

Her breath hitched and not just from running. He mentioned his funeral so casually, like it meant nothing. Was it all so simple for him? He'd done a job and that was it?

But he heard her reaction and kicked himself for saying it. Stopping, he grabbed her arm and forced her to turn toward him. "I shouldn't have mentioned it," he said, dropping his hand back to his side.

Rubbing at her arm where his hand had touched her, she marveled at the warmth of his skin. Shaking her head, she said, "It's okay, Booth. You never used to take careful steps around me before. I don't want you to do so now."

"Why not?" he asked. "You are." He took another step back from her. "I know you're angry and disappointed and feel like you can't trust me now. You wonder what was the truth and what I might have made up. I wish you'd yell at me, or ask the questions, or demand answers that I don't want to give. I wish you'd give me anything except this careful stepping around any comment that might mention how you feel."

He stalked away from her, picking up a branch on the trail and tossing it into the woods. "This whole thing is fucked up, Bones, I know this. But I don't know how to fix it. I keep trying and keep screwing it up."

Blue eyes watched him, deep and she hoped unreadable. "What do you want me to say?" she asked. His back was still turned toward her, but he turned at the sound of her voice.

"Why did you leave?" he asked. She wasn't the only one who was angry, but he'd been careful not to let his show. "You had a life there, a family. I could die every time I leave my office. Hell, I could die trying to cross the street to get to the Royal Diner. I have to believe, to know, that you have people around you if something happens to me for real. But you walked away from them and wouldn't let them help you. And you didn't stay to help them," he accused at the end.

She blinked, one time and felt the tears escape her eyes. What could she say? That he was right. Yes, she'd made a poor choice. Her father had said the same thing to her.

But she chose to listen to none of it. Chose to slam walls back into place and refused to feel.

She spent six months trying to convince herself Booth meant nothing to her. That he had simply been the partner she'd insisted he was. Not that there'd been anyone there to listen.

It sucked when the only person you couldn't convince of a truth was yourself.

The sight of her tears had him swearing in frustration. He had every intention of coming toward her and shaking her, or hugging her, but instead kept walking past her.

If she wouldn't talk to him, there was nothing more that he could do. Except he knew as he went past that he'd run the same path with her tomorrow and the day after that. There was no way he'd give up in less than a week after waiting six months to find her.

"You left me," she said. Behind her, Booth stopped and waited. When she no longer heard his steps, she continued. "You left me, just like everyone else did. And it didn't matter if it was a mistake. All I knew was that you left me. And it was my fault."

"Bones," he said, "it wasn't." A hand on her shoulder turned her, but before he could take her into his arms, she shoved at his chest. There was enough anger and raw emotion behind it that she forced him to step back.

If he wanted words, he'd have them. "You should have let her shoot me," she said, wiping tears from beneath her suddenly dry eyes. "You should have picked up a damn phone or sent me a text and checked on me. Or our friends."

"I wasn't allowed -," he tried to explain, but she cut his words short with a gesture.

"You've done plenty of things you aren't allowed to do," she reminded him. "Some of them have risked my life. But that's okay, right? Since this didn't risk my life you didn't have to worry about it."

"We don't always break rules, Bones. We only do it when absolutely necessary,"

"Exactly," she said, deciding what he said confirmed her argument. "We do it all the time for things we think are important. Why wasn't this one important enough?" A deep breath allowed her to say the next words without a hitch. "Why wasn't I important enough?"

"If stepping in front of a bullet for you doesn't prove you're important to me, I'm not sure what will."

"And then let me think you were dead. Agreed to a plan that allowed other people to think you were dead. Even if I'd been informed, you expected me to keep up that lie for two weeks. Do you think pretending you were dead for my friends would have hurt less? You put me in a situation like that and didn't even ask me first."

"It was the FBI's plan, their decision. I agreed then did what I was told."

"Yes," she said, her voice going cold. "I am more than aware of that." She took a step back away from him. "I am more than aware that much of what has taken place is simply because I was not part of your little idea. And because you didn't think enough of me to make me a part of it. I was only your partner when you needed me." Another step back and a second separated them enough that he could no longer reach for her if he stretched out his hand.

"What about your part in this, Bones? I'm not the only one to blame for this. You left. And cut off everyone. Every friend you had."

She knew what her part was. She didn't need to be reminded of it. "I know what my part was, Booth," she snapped. "Now, I not only get to blame myself for you being shot, I get to blame myself for the last six months."

"And you think you're alone in that?" Booth asked her. "Why do you insist on acting like you're alone in any of this? We both made mistakes, Bones." He watched her for any sign that he was getting through. "If you need my forgiveness, Bones, you've got it."

She shook her head. "I don't need it," she insisted. Except, maybe she did. "You've come to do what you wanted to do, Booth. I know you are alive. Go home. I'll come back when I'm ready."

"No," he disagreed. "I won't do that. I won't leave you were important to me. You are important to me. I've spent six months looking for you. All I wanted to do was find you."

"You found me, Booth. And I'm not sure what to do about it." This disappointment was clear in her voice. Booth wasn't sure it was directed at him. "You're right. I did leave. The fact that I've been gone for six months in my fault."

"No," he said, turning away before turning back again. "It's mine. It's always going to be mine. This started when I agreed to something without talking to you first. Every decision that was made after that falls on me. Including your leaving," he snapped.

"No matter what you think, hiding out here in the middle of nowhere, and how the hell did you find this place by the way, not one single minute of this is your fault."

She shook her head. "I refuse to allow you to take all the blame, Booth. The decisions I made were mine alone. My father tried to tell me I was wrong," she whispered. "I didn't listen."

Her eyes blinked once hard, and when he was still there, she began to accept he wasn't going to disappear. "I was so angry at you for dying. And now I'm angry at you for not dying. How does that make sense?" she asked. "I need to apologize to you. Which makes no sense because I'm angry. But I shouldn't have left when I had other options."

"I don't want your apologies," he said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. "I'm apologizing to you. For thinking that plan was a good idea. For not making sure you were informed I was living. And for forcing you to think you had no options, except to run."

She waited, as still as the air around them. When she didn't speak, Booth lifted his eyes to hers. "I am truly sorry, Temperance. I hope you will come home again. But not for work, or for me. But for you."

"Why for me?" she asked.

"Because you deserve more than some lonely cabin in the middle of nowhere. You deserve friends and the full life you lived in DC," he explained.

"And you?" she asked.

"Me?" he shrugged. "Are you asking if you deserve me? Cause right now, Bones, I think you probably deserve a better partner and a better friend."

She tilted her head to the side, considering what he'd said to her. "I'm still angry, Booth. But…" she bit her lip, "I find that I'm not as angry as I was yesterday."

He lifted the corner of his mouth. "That's good to hear, Bones."

His anger, he'd discovered was fading each moment he was able to spend with her. As long as he talked to her, Booth believed everything would be okay.

"Are you angry, Booth?" she asked.

"Not like you think," he reassured her, almost before she finished the question. "What I am, Bones, is terrified. Terrified that you'll walk down that hill and I'll never see you again."

The thought that he might not trust her anymore, after everything that had taken place, bothered her. "I won't run from you, Booth." Just what she thought she might feel for him.

Booth shrugged. "I trust you, Bones, But you don't trust me anymore and given what's happened, that's okay. So if I keep showing up, you'll know I'm not leaving. I want a chance to start over with you. And if that day doesn't come, I'll learn to live with it. But I'm not giving up without a fight."

"Do you?" she asked. "Want to start again?"

A second shrug. "That's up to you. I want to work with you again. I want you to come home so we can eat actual takeout and solve cases. I've learned in the last six months that I'm still good at my job, but not as good as I am when you're there."

"Is that the only reason?" she heard herself ask. "Because you want to be the best at your job again?" Was she nothing more than his partner?

And why did she need to know? Except that she wasn't sure just being his partner was going to be enough for her.

Did she want the strong friendship they'd had? Or was she ready for something more?

His eyes held hers, daring her to look away. When she didn't, his mouth lifted in a small smile. She was definitely the woman he remembered. The one who challenged him and made him a better man. "That's not the only reason, Bones. But I don't think you're ready to hear the rest of it."

No, despite the question, she wasn't there. Yet. "I need…" she started to say before stopping. She bit her lip. "I'm going back to my place. Just…give me a little time."

He sighed. "I'll give you what you need, Bones. All I ask is that you find a way to not shut me out of whatever you're thinking."

She nodded. And to his surprise stepped toward him until she wrapped her arms around his waist. It was only a heartbeat before his arms were wrapped tightly enough to make it hard for her to breath.

Resting his cheek on her head, Booth relished the feel of her in his arms. He felt her breath hitch and wondered if she was crying. But he didn't make any effort to find out.

Because he thought he might be as well.

Too soon, she was pulling back and the moment was over. If her eyes appeared wet, he pretended not to notice. She gave him the same.

"What was that for, Bones?" he asked, reaching forward to brush at a piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

"I'm glad you're alive, Booth," she said, before moving to head back down the trail.

He waited until long after the sound of her footsteps had disappeared before he started back down.

"Me, too, Bones. Me, too."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: We are almost at the end. Only one more chapter after this one._

 _Again, thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites._

The day was long and Booth fought the need to go knock on her door again. She'd asked for space and he gave it to her.

Things were better. And she'd asked some interesting questions up on the that hill. Which made him wonder: exactly what she was working toward?

Was she going to agree to be only his partner again? Or, did he dare hope she was also working her way toward accepting him on another level.

He would follow her, wherever she decided go. He could only hope they were headed toward the same place.

For lunch, he finished off what was left of the pizza. It proved to be unsatisfying and he knew he was going to have to leave to get food soon.

Did he dare ask her to dinner? Or was the reunion too fresh? The dance was a complicated one and Booth wasn't sure what the next step should be.

He tried not to watch the clock, wondering when she'd make a reappearance. Or how long he should give her before knocking on the door again and demanding entrance.

He hadn't been sure he was making any progress, until the question about only wanting her to return as a partner. Then, she'd stepped into his arms. If he'd wanted to hold on a little longer, that was only natural, he told himself. It had been six months since he'd been able to give her a guy hug and he'd missed it.

Booth was no longer sure it was wrong of him to want more. More than a simple hug between friends. He'd tried to forget her, at least, Booth thought he had. But six months had done little to dull what he felt for her.

And when he'd implied such a thing to her, she'd shied away. Or asked for some time back in that damn house she'd been hiding in. Disappointed in himself for saying anything before she was ready for it, Booth walked to the door and opened it again. The road between their houses was empty, as it had been the last five times he'd checked.

So he waited. Attempted to read the only book he'd brought. One of hers, of course. The story was so familiar, he could recite some paragraphs from memory.

And if he found himself fantasizing during certain portions, well who would know?

Booth had made a deal with himself to give her one more hour when the bang came from his front door. More than a knock, demanding in sound, he hurried to open it.

And found Bones standing on his steps with a bag over one shoulder and a casserole dish in her hands.

She'd come to him. Thank God.

He reached out to help her, but she pulled away. "Hot, Booth. Tell me where to set it down."

"That way," he motioned with his hand, closing the door behind her.

The smell had him drooling before she took off the cover. "Is that mac and cheese?" he demanded, leaning over the pan for a better look. "Our mac and cheese?"

He wouldn't analyze what it meant, the she had made his favorite dish. And brought it over so they could eat together.

"You need to eat," she said simply. "I wasn't sure what you had over here so I brought plates, and silverware and glasses. And wine," she added, pulling everything out of the bag.

Reaching out to take the bottle, he closed his hand over hers. "Why, Bones?" he asked. His tone let her know this wasn't a question he wanted an easy answer to. "After the last two days and the last six months, why did you do this for me?"

Pulling her hand free, she moved to open the bottle. "I decided I needed to know. All of it. What happened, what didn't happen." She sighed. "I know my part of it. I need to know yours. And I'm not very good with this sort of thing, but I thought that this wouldn't be fun, for either of this. So I made us something we could enjoy. And…," she continued after a breath, "I wanted to make something for you."

She hadn't looked at him during the entire confession. He knuckled her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "You're better at this than you give yourself credit for, Bones." He pulled back to grab the plates. "Let's dish up the food and I'll tell you."

So he told her. About waking up after surgery to find several agents in his room. About the drug induced haze he was in, that made the plan sound like a good one.

How he'd insisted she be told before the pain medicine sent him under again.

"When I was stable, they sent me to a safe house with a visiting nurse. It sucked," he said simply, scooping out a second helping of food. "Despite what you think, I didn't have easy access to a phone." Using his fork, he pushed the food around on his plate. "I probably could have managed to get my hands on one."

"The doctor came out at 11:57 in the evening and informed us of your death. Based on your information, he beat the FBI agents to me. He wouldn't let me see your body," she shuddered and pushed her plate away. "Family only, he insisted. So, I left the premises."

"And went to my apartment," he said, pushing her plate back toward her. She needed to eat.

The comment about her dinner died on her lips. "How did you know that?"

"Eat, Bones," he said, scooping up a bite as an example. "Angela figured it out. And," he added, pausing to eat, "you answered the door in one of my shirts. One I never gave you."

"You didn't need it," she grumbled, before giving in and continuing to eat. She studied her plate to avoid the look of satisfaction she was sure Booth wore. "The funeral, Booth," she prodded when he continued to eat. "Tell me that part."

"You were on my list, Bones," Booth said. "I insisted they tell you and you were on the list."

Her blue eyes met his. "It wasn't your fault, Booth. The doctor beat the FBI agents, as apparently did I. You can't notify someone if you can't find them." She pushed her plate away again. "We could spend hours talking about where all of this went wrong. Tell me about your funeral."

There wasn't much left of the food, or the bottle of wine, by the time he reached the end. And as hard as he tried, Booth couldn't tell it without emotion. His anger with Angela leaked through, as well as his frustration with some of the choices Brennan made.

She'd interrupted once or twice to ask questions, but remained silent for most of it. Booth could see the thoughts racing and wished for her to share them.

"You know the rest, Bones. I waited outside that post office for two days then spent half the afternoon trying to decide what to say to you. Didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped." There was acceptance in his voice. "Not that I expected it to go well."

Rising, Brennan took the now empty dish to the sink. "Angela was unnecessarily cruel to you. I was the one who chose to leave."

Booth watched her from his own seat. "Her first loyalty is always to you, Bones. She'll never feel the need to protect me as she does you."

Her hands were wrist deep in soapy water, but Booth could see her shoulders shaking. "You okay, Bones?"

He thought she might have nodded, but the move so subtle, he wasn't sure. Rising, Booth came to stand behind her, reaching out to pull her hands from the water. "Talk to me, Bones."

Turning, she freed her hands to wipe at her eyes, mixing water and soap with the tears on her cheeks. "I really made a mess of this, Booth." Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "And I'm done crying over it," she declared. "Booth, I'm sorry."

"I don't care," he muttered. Reaching out, he hauled her against him, the hug as tight as the one he'd given her under the trees that morning. And for the first time, she didn't pull away when he initiated the touch. "I meant what I said. I don't want your apologies, Bones. Or your tears. Or the guilt you obviously feel."

"Then what do you want?" she asked, her voice muffled. The back of his shirt grew damp, where her hands rested against it. "I hurt you, too, Booth. I hurt all of my friends by leaving. How do I fix that?"

He ran his hands up and down her back. "You tell them you're sorry, Bones. They love you. They'll forgive you."

Booth moved just enough to see her eyes. "As for what I want? I want you to come home. I want you, Bones, as my partner, or friend, or whatever way you'll take me."

"I missed you," she said. "I wished for this to happen a thousand times. But it's not supposed to happen outside of a story."

"Stop, Bones," he said softly. "It's okay. We're okay. You'll come home and we'll be okay."

"Yes," she agreed. Letting go, she put some items back in the bag, to give her hands something to do. "We'll go home. It will take me a few days to wrap up some things here. Then we can go."

Leaning casually against the counter, Booth let out the breath he'd been holding since he arrived. "I've got six weeks. A few days won't make a difference."

She glanced at him. "Six weeks? They gave you six weeks off work?"

He grimaced. "I haven't been a lot of fun to be around," he mumbled.

"No," she said, familiar with his moods, "I'm sure you haven't been." She went back to the sink to finish the dishes. With Booth's assistance it took less than ten minutes to clean everything up.

"I'll walk you back to your place," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Booth, I'm more than capable of carrying the bag back."

"Not while I'm here," he said, motioning toward the door. "Lead the way, Bones."

She huffed but did as he said. There was no way he was giving that bag to her and she knew it.

"I have coffee at my place," she offered, settling into an easy pace next to him.

He looked down at her. "I already know it's better than anything I can get around here, so I'll take it."

Chuckling, she was forced to agree with his assessment. "I had to drive for some time to find anything worth purchasing. And it's still not as good as our cart in DC."

"I haven't been there, since, well since…" he trailed off as she opened her door.

"Since I left?" she asked, motioning him inside.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Since then." He watched her compact movements as she retrieved the tools she needed to make a fresh cup of coffee. "I have some cases for you to look at."

She hummed, and glanced at him. "How many is some?" she asked. "That's a very unspecific number."

"Two. Maybe three. I did manage to solve the rest."

"We'll solve those two or three, as well," she promised.

Booth enjoyed the sound of the word we, ignoring the rest. He wasn't worried about solving cases when she came back to town. They were a great team after all.

They sat in companionable silence, talking about everything and nothing. Old friends catching up after too much time spent apart. And when he stood up to leave, she reached out and put a hand on his arm.

"I want you to stay," she whispered, biting her lip.

He hoped his eyes didn't reflect his sudden desire as he looked at her. "Bones…"

"To sleep, for now," she clarified. "I'm just tired of being alone. Of the nightmares…," she said, trailing off without finishing.

"Oh," he said. And ignored the sudden lust that rushed through him at her implication that they'd be more than partners soon. He could understand her desire not to be alone. "I can stay the night on the couch," he offered.

But she shook her head. "That's bad for your back. And there is a guest bedroom with a queen bed. I thought perhaps you could sleep there. Unless you don't want to," she added quickly.

"I'll stay," he said. "Just let me go back and get some clothes to sleep in."

She chuckled and shook her head. "That won't be necessary, Booth." She stepped away from him to go toward the back of the house. Booth watched her, thankful she'd asked him to stay. He still woke several times each night, wondering if she'd be there when dawn broke.

There was a pair of shorts and a shirt in her hand when she returned. "I didn't just take a shirt," she admitted, without a hint of guilt.

"Why did you steal my stuff, Bones?" he asked, taking the items from her.

"You talked to me. I don't believe in that, so I found other ways."

"Shit, Bones," he said, oddly touched. "Show me where this room is so I can settle in."

This room was directly across from hers. He'd closed the door, at first, but as darkness settled over the house, he reopened the door.

He tried to tell himself it was because he was in an unfamiliar home or some other ridiculous reason. Booth knew he simply needed to be as close to her as possible. Even a closed door between them was too much.

When he found that she had done the same, he paused for only a moment before walking across the hall into her room.

Her back was to him and he watched her sleep for several minutes before her voice broke the silence.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked him without rolling over.

"Sorry, Bones," he said, stepping back. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I haven't slept," she admitted. Brennan allowed the battle to wage in her head for several minutes before she rolled to look at the man standing in the doorway.

Six months she'd thought he was dead. Tried to find a way to move on without him. Now that she had a chance, was she really too much of a coward to take it?

"I forgive you, Booth," she said.

Booth leaned against the door frame and closed his eyes, thankful she couldn't see him clearly in the dark. Her words weren't what he'd expected. "Thanks, Bones," he said, his voice rough. "I wasn't sure…" he started, before his voice faded away again.

She sat up in bed and stared across the darkness. "Logically, I know that everything that happened was a combination of bad timing and poor choices. On both on parts," Brennan said.

"And logically," she continued, not giving him a chance to speak. "Logically, I know that we can't go back to DC and still be angry with each other."

"I'm not angry with you, Bones. Not anymore."

She nodded, not sure if he could see it. "That's good, Booth. Because I don't think I'm angry anymore either."

Continuing to lean against the frame, arms across his chest, Booth waited for her to work herself up to whatever she wanted to say. "What are you then, Bones?" he asked, when she didn't offer any more.

Her eyes lifted and in the darkness they almost glowed. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "It's all jumbled up and I'm having trouble making sense of it." She sighed, knowing that of all the people that knew her, he was the most likely to understand. "What I am right now, is tired. But I still fear that I'll open my eyes and you won't be here in the morning."

"I'll be right next door, Bones," he said. Motioning across the hall, he took a step back toward his own room. "I'll keep the door open so you can call for me, if you want."

"Booth, wait," she said. Licking her lips, he heard her inhale and waited to see what she'd say. "I think we'd both sleep better if you joined me, Booth."

His eyes met hers, despite the darkness. Did she understand exactly what she was offering him? "I can't do this and go back, Bones."

"Good," she said, her voice calm and steady. "Because I don't think I could lose you a second time." She threw the blanket back on the bed. He caught a glimpse of bare leg and swallowed heavily. "Your choice, Booth," she said. "I've made mine."

So had he, a long time ago. He'd just been waiting for her.

He came forward until he reached the side of the bed. "Are you coming home?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "If my friends will take me back," she said, looking down and picking at the blanket nervously. "And if they don't, I'll find a new place," she said, but the tremor in her voice hinted at her nerves.

He sat and placed his hand over hers. "I promise they'll take you back, Bones. Don't worry." Turning, he fell into bed next her and waited for her to make the next move. If she only wanted to sleep next to him, on the opposite side of the bed, that's what they'd do.

But she didn't hesitate to move so her head rested on his shoulder, one leg flung over his. She snuggled impossibly closer, until one hand rested on the bare skin beneath his shirt.

Her smooth fingers rubbed over the scar from the gunshot. Reaching up, Booth trapped it beneath his own hand. "It's okay, Bones. You did what you needed to do. The physical wound healed a long time ago."

She wasn't sure why he referred to it that way and decided she didn't want to ask. It was enough that he was there with her. "You're warm," she mumbled, relaxing further into him. "Will you be here when I wake up?"

He pressed a kiss against her hair. "Go to sleep, Bones. I'll be here as long as you want me."


	11. Chapter 11

Booth woke to Brennan attempting to extricate herself from his arms. He tightened them around her instinctively. "Are you okay, Bones?" he asked.

It wasn't a surprise to him that she was trying to escape. He worried that waking in his arms would make her uncomfortable.

Far from uncomfortable, Booth relished the feeling of her in his arms. Even if she was trying to escape.

She struggled harder now that she knew he was awake. "I'm fine, Booth. I need to make some phone calls."

When his arms didn't relax, she ceased struggling. "Please, let me go, Booth. I promise I'm only going to take a shower and make some calls."

"Only phone calls?" he asked.

She picked her head up, but her hair fell over her face, blocking her eyes. He freed one hand to push it away. "And a shower," she repeated.

Not seeing anxiety reflected back to him, about the night she'd just spent in his arms, Booth let her go. It was both a surprise and a relief. "I'm going to go get some fresh clothes and get cleaned up. I'll give you some space to do what you need to do."

It was another heartbeat before he relaxed enough to free her. He rolled and watched her grab her things before she headed into the attached bath. Just before the door closed, she met his eyes. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Bring your things back with you," she said. And promptly closed the door between them.

Rolling to his back, he stared at the ceiling and allowed the grin to grow on his face. The nightmare he'd been living for six months was finally over.

He returned, suitcase in hand to find a fresh cup of coffee waiting for him. Brennan, her feet bare again, watched him from her chair on the porch.

"Aren't your feet cold?" he asked. The suitcase went next to the door and he grabbed the coffee, sighing in pleasure at the first sip. He pulled a chair up next to her and took her hand in his.

"A little. But I like not wearing shoes or socks," she admitted, falling silent again. Her eyes continued to focus on something only she could see in the distance.

Booth remained quiet, unsure of what she was feeling. "Phone calls not go well?" he finally asked. He found it hard to believe that her friends wouldn't welcome her back with open arms.

And if they didn't? He'd find someplace new for both of them.

"I missed them," she said. "More than I realized." Sighing, she took another sip from her own cup, before placing it down on the arm of the chair. "I know I shouldn't have left," she admitted, looking down. "I'm sad that I made that choice."

Swallowing, he pushed back the frisson of fear at her demeanor. And vowed to kill Angela if she'd done anything that would keep Bones from going back to DC.

Brennan picked her head up and glanced toward him before turning to look straight ahead again. "Angela cried. I didn't want to make her cry. She made me cry, too. But not in a bad way," she explained.

"What did you think she was going to do, Bones? They missed you, too. They've been waiting for you."

"Yell at me. Tell me that she hates me." Brennan shrugged. "Those responses seemed the most logical. I spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like going back home."

He squeezed her hand, both in support and apology. Because she would have imagined what it was like to return without him.

"It's what I expected you to do," she continued. "Yell at me. Hate me. At least what I imagined that first night, after I finally decided I hadn't suffered a mental break when you appeared on my porch."

"Jesus, Bones," he said without thinking first. His eyes were focused on nothing but her. "I could never hate you. I'm in love with you."

She turned and gaped at him, mouth wide, before she closed it with a snap and stared at him.

"What's wrong, Bones?" he asked, turning to look behind him. Why was she looking at him like that?

"You're in love with me?" she repeated.

"Wait, what?" he asked, replaying the words in his head, realizing exactly what he'd said to her.

"You said you could never hate me. That you're in love with me? Are you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said knowing there was no way he'd take those words back. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'm in love with you. I won't apologize for it," he said. "Maybe for the timing, but not for saying the words."

"You haven't seen me for six months," she reminded him. Her mind raced to catch up. And her eyes keep returning to his hand, holding hers. "How can you be in love with me?" She tilted her head and brought her eyes up. "And do you want to apologize for it?"

A thumb traced over her knuckles. "That's a lot of questions, Bones. As for being in love with you, I just am. You can try and explain it with your fancy words and your science if you want, but it won't change anything."

He brought his hand to his lips and kissed it, watching her eyes. They widened slightly, but she didn't try to free her hand. "And I will never apologize for it."

"Angela asked me when I was coming home," Brennan said.

"And?" Booth asked, allowing her to change the subject. "What did you tell her?" He lowered her hand, but didn't let go.

"I told her two weeks," she said softly. "It seemed like an appropriate amount of time."

Booth watched her closely. He'd expected panic from his unplanned declaration, but there was none of that reflected in her eyes. "Why two weeks, Bones?" He needed her to be sure about whatever she was feeling. Because he meant what he'd said in the darkness. There was no going back from this.

"I thought it might be nice to spend some time together. Because despite what I've always believed about science, and love, I think I might feel that way about you, too. It was just jumbled up with all the rest. It's easier to recognize now, because I'm not devastated or angry anymore."

The grip on her hand was almost painful, but she didn't pull away. "I need to hear you say it, Bones. Even if it's only this one time."

"I don't plan on saying it just once, Booth. That would be impractical." She smiled at him. "I love you, too, Booth."

Standing, he pulled her to her feet, until she was pressed against him. He freed his hand from hers and cupped her face. "You're sure?" he asked.

"I'm always sure, Booth." It was Brennan who closed the distance between them, but it was Booth who pulled back first.

"Ready to take this inside, Bones?"

"I'm ready, Booth. Let's go start the future I thought I lost."

BBBBBBBB

A few weeks later…

Booth left the meeting and headed back toward his office, pausing when he noticed his door was closed. He was sure it had been open when he left.

"Charlie?" Booth asked, "is someone in the office?"

His fellow agent looked nervous. "Yes, but I wasn't supposed to warn you."

Charlie wouldn't have been that nervous for Bones. Booth opened the door, not surprised to see the figure of a man there.

"Hey, Max," Booth said. Bones's father stood at the back of the room, behind the desk, a picture frame in his hand. Booth didn't have to ask. It was the same one that had caught Angela's attention several months before.

Booth swung the door closed. Turning slightly, he considered the move, before locking it.

Max raised his eyebrows, but didn't say a word.

"Figured you wanted to take a swing at me," Booth explained. "This will keep you from getting arrested for it."

Chuckling, Max set the picture down and faced the agent. "That's funny. I figured it was because you planned on taking a swing at me."

"Maybe we could skip that part," Booth said. He'd spent the weeks since their return to DC wanting to both talk to and avoid the man in front of him. How much had he known? And when did he know it? "I never asked Bones about your part in this."

It wasn't that he didn't want to know, because Booth did. At the same time, he wasn't sure it mattered anymore since at the end of the day he'd get to take Bones back to her apartment.

Then spend the night there. It seemed her home was now his. Bringing her back had changed his definition of the word.

DC was no longer his home.

Bones was.

"Are you asking me if I kept her from you?" Max asked. When Booth nodded, the older man sighed. "Not intentionally," he admitted. Pacing away from Booth, Max considered his part in everything that happened. "How much do you know?" Max asked.

"She's given me a general outline," Booth said, refusing to repeat anything Bones had said to him.

Max's eyes approved the vague answer. "Her call came late that night. And she was…not the Tempe I've come to know." His daughter was fearless in ways that could be terrifying. She wasn't afraid to risk herself if she thought it was important enough.

The voice on the other end of that phone call had been none of those things.

Fiddling with several items on a shelf, Max picked them up and put them down again. "I've only heard one other woman sound like she did." Visibly shaking himself, Max chased away the memory. "I was afraid if I didn't help her, there would be no one who knew where she was. I won't apologize for making that choice."

"I don't expect you to," Booth said. "You hid her well. Lost a lot of hours trying to find where you put her. Not sure I would have if she hadn't sent that letter."

"I told her to," Max said. At Booth's raised eyebrow, Max hurried to further explain. "I told her she could have six months. Then she had to restart her life again." Max's eyes met Booth's and there was something in them Booth couldn't read. "I told her you'd be pissed she was leaving." Max shrugged. "She wasn't ready to listen then. I did what I could."

"I was pissed," Booth admitted. "Angry at the thought of what you did. Angry at her for making that choice." Stepping around his desk, Booth readjusted the picture Max moved. "I'm not anymore. For either of you." From the corner of his eye, he watched Max square his shoulders. "Is this what you came to tell me?" Booth asked.

"It goes against everything that I believe that I like you," Max said. "A damn cop, of all things." He shook his head at the twist of fate. "I came here to apologize for hiding her. That also goes against what I believe. I don't apologize for the decisions I make. But I should have made a better one."

"So you didn't know," Booth concluded. It was no longer a question. "You didn't keep the woman I love away from me for six months."

Max smiled at the easy declaration. "Does Tempe know that?"

Booth nodded solemnly.

"Then I will say this to you, Booth. If I had known you lived, I would have driven you to her myself. Just because I knew what she couldn't admit. A blind man would have known what she felt for you. But," he continued, the tone of his voice turning as sharp as a knife, "if you ever put that look on my daughter's face again, I will kill you. It's not just living people I can hide."

"Understood," Booth said, meeting his eyes. It wasn't safe to discount any threat Max made.

The moment was broken by the ringing of the phone. Max took the opportunity to unlock and then slip out the door. What he'd come to do was done.

Booth watched him walk away, shaking his head. Who knew what that man had gotten away with over the years.

Answering the phone, Booth had a quick discussion, before hanging it up and dialing a second number.

"Bones," he said when she answered the phone. He didn't realize a contented grin had appeared on his face at the sound of her voice. "We have a case."

 _A/N: This is the_ _end_ _of this adventure. The reviews that I received for this story were more than I expected. I'm glad everyone enjoyed it, despite the angst. Thank you so much for reading, and commenting. Many of the reviews brought a smile to my face. They were greatly_ _appreciated_ _._

 _Until next time..._


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